Wishful Thinking
by quote intangible
Summary: James' father has always hated him, but when his father takes things too far, will James have the courage to finally tell Kendall? Rated T for mentions of child abuse. Pre-series.
1. Chapter 1

This idea popped into my head and begged to be written. So I took a break from _The Way We Are_ series and wrote this instead. I do intend to write another story in the _The Way We Are _and _Disaster Follows _universe. It's actually about half way done right now, but I am also thinking of writing up a follow up to this story as well.

I, in no way, shape, or form agree with James' father's opinions, in this story.

Rated T for hints of child abuse and violence, a few swear words, and excessive James angst

**Disclaimer: I do not know or own Big Time Rush or any other affiliated character, nor is any money being made. The show belongs to Nickelodeon. **The only thing I own is about 3 dollars, the laptop I'm writing on, myself, and Delilah Diamond. **  
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**Wishful Thinking **

Delilah Diamond was a beautiful woman. With her long brown hair, flawless tan skin, and piercing green eyes she was the envy of all the other girls in high school.

And true to form, straight out of high school, she married the incredibly handsome, charming, wealthy, power obsessed asshole. A decision she regretted every single day of her life.

There was only one good thing that came from her horrible marriage to that worthless man that somehow made this all worth it. And that was her utterly adorable four year-old son, James David Diamond.

Her beautiful baby boy was the sweetest little thing and at four years old, he could already charm the pants off of anyone, but his overbearing father.

James decided he wanted to be like his mommy today because _'she was so beautiful and he wanted to be as pretty as her.'_

Delilah tried to tell him he was beautiful the way he was, but the stubborn child would have none of that. She easily caved to his demands. A little bit of dress up never hurt anyone, or so she thought.

James was very adamant about picking out his own clothes to wear from her closet. Delilah prided herself on her keen fashion sense. It had been her dream to be a fashion designer since she was James' age, a dream she let slip away. But she could dress anyone, any shape, any size, and make them look beautiful and stylish in seconds. She always had the right flare to any outfit she wore.

Fashion was one of the few things, besides her son, that could truly make her happy these days and she was very proud of her talent and skills.

James was beginning to take after her, and though he was still so young, he could still make a snazzy outfit for himself.

He chose a floral summer dress that pooled around his feet and dragged along the floor, with a matching pearl necklace and bracelet. His tiny feet were lost in a pair of black high heels. The boy had no talent with makeup though, and there was more red lipstick smeared across his face than on his lips and more purple eye shadow across his cheeks than on his eyelids.

As he flashed her a bright smile, proud of his accomplishment, her heart warmed at the sight of the only source of joy in her life.

"One last thing," she told her child who stood before her for her approval. Delilah grabbed her comb and her hair gel. The comb was a family heirloom. Her great grandmother brought it with her from Ireland and though it wasn't particularly fancy, it was still very precious to her. It was her lucky charm.

With her lucky comb and a little bit of hair gel, she fixed her child's unruly hair.

"Perfect," she said and scooped the giggling child into her arms, hugging him tightly. "You look wonderful!"

James beamed at her.

"He looks ridiculous," a scathing voice scolded.

Slowly, Delilah turned to find her husband standing in the doorway of their room. Gently she set her son down, who immediately cowered behind her.

"James, go to your room, sweetie."

James nodded, but her husband stopped him.

"Take off that attire, and wash your face," her husband demanded. "You look stupid."

Tears welled in her little boy's eyes and he immediately threw off the dress and jewelry before running from the room.

"What are you trying to do, Delilah? Turn the boy into a faggot?" he snarled and grabbed her arm.

"You're such an asshole, David," she hissed and pulled her arm from his tight grip.

It was their usual argument after that. They yelled and screamed at each other, until David left in a huff, probably to go spend the night with his whore of a mistress.

She found James after their screaming match was over, trembling in his closet, tears running down his face as he hide from the harsh words his parents exchanged.

"I'm so sorry, mommy," James sobbed as she gathered her little boy in her arms.

"It's not your fault, sweetie," she soothed the crying child.

"But, but you guys were fighting over me."

"What we fight about, it's…it's not about you, sweetie, okay? I want you to remember that." Her little boy nodded solemnly. "And don't listen to a word your father says. You are gorgeous any way you are."

He hiccupped softly, his crying dying down slowly. "Here, I've got something that'll cheer you up."

James looked up at her cautiously, his eyes still wet with tears and his bottom lip trembling.

"I want you to have my lucky comb," she said and handed the boy her great grandmother's comb. Her child's eyes lit up, his smile brightening once more. "Take good care of it, okay?"

James took the proffered comb with delicate hands and nodded.

"I love you, mommy." The words tore at her heart. She didn't deserve her child's love. Delilah knew she was a horrible mother. James did not deserve any of this, not the daily screaming fights or a father that didn't love him.

She tightened her hold on James. "I love you too, sweetie."

It was five years later, when Delilah took her last dying breath. Her last thought was, she never did make it up to James and she was about to leave him all alone with a monster.

* * *

James knew his father hated him. He told him so almost everyday when he walked into the house after school.

There was nothing more his father hated than failure, and James was just that. In his father's eyes, he had been a failure since the day he was born.

His mother had been a buffer between James and his father when he was younger, but after she died…things got really bad between them. It was to point where he was _terrified _to go home.

James wanted to be beautiful like his mother. He even took up an interest in fashion because it always made his mother so happy. Was there something so wrong with that? Was that really the reason why his father hated him so much? He couldn't help that he was so ridiculously good looking!

His mother used to tell him his father was incapable of loving anything, but still James can't help but feel that it's his fault.

James sank to his knees in the middle of his immaculate room, fresh tears welling in his brown eyes. He buried his head in his arms, but was painfully reminded of exactly why that was a_ terrible_ idea.

His left wrist was swollen, a bruise in the shape of a hand print wrapped around it from where his father tightly gripped his wrist, his thumb digging painfully into the soft flesh. He didn't think it was broken, but it ached something fierce. James was too terrified to go to the kitchen to get ice. He didn't want to risk the chance of running into his father again. There were bruises on his back, he knew, and James could tell by the way his face was swelling that by morning he would have a nice black eye.

It was just another bruise and at school tomorrow, it would be just another lie, just another excuse to hide what his father did.

The sprained wrist would be harder to lie away, but James knew he would put on a smile, and with false reassurances he would make Kendall, Carlos, and Logan believe it was nothing, but a silly accident.

Kendall never did believe him though and James doesn't remember anymore why he's trying so hard to hide it.

He falls forward, face first into the carpet and just lies there, too tired and too sore to move to his bed.

He's just _so_ _tired. _He's tired of the lies, tired of the pain, and he's tired of hiding.

James just wants to give up. He wants to cave in and tell Kendall everything, what Kendall already knows, but does not voice.

He's not sure what holds him back, though. Maybe he's afraid of what will happen to him if he does tell and he's taken away from his father. Maybe it's because deep down, he still loves the man, even if he doesn't deserve it. Because even after everything he's done, it's still his father, even if the jerk has never given him a reason to call him such.

He knows Kendall _knows_, just like he knows Carlos and Logan know, but still he remains silent.

He's just so _confused_. He's only 13. He shouldn't have to make these decisions.

James pulled out his lucky comb from his pocket. It's the only thing he has left of his mother, besides a few pictures. His father threw out all of her things the day she died.

James cherished the comb and it comforted him in ways only his mother used to be able to do.

It's not enough, though, to soothe the burning ache in his chest. Instead it brings tears to his eyes that steadily fall down his cheeks.

He misses his mother; he misses her so much it _hurts. _He misses her smiles and her hugs and even her cooking. He misses the way she could always make him feel better, even after his father always made him feel worthless.

It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair.

As he lies on the floor, unable, and unwilling, to crawl to the comfort of his bed, he vows that tomorrow, tomorrow he will tell Kendall. Tomorrow he _will _put a stop to his.

But tomorrow comes, and James half stutters out his excuse.

"You know how messy my room is," he easily lies because they have never been there. They have no idea how _clean _it really is. "I tripped over an old can of hair gel."

He can tell by the look in Kendall's eyes, that he doesn't believe James, he never does and James vows, he _swears_ next time his father hurts him, he will say _something, _anything just to make the pain stop.

But that time comes and goes and James never utters a single grievance, never says anything against his father.

He's painfully aware of the dangerous web of lies he is weaving, that they are so tightly wrapped around him he might not be able to find his way out, that he might be beyond help.

So when the day (hopefully) comes that Kendall is finally _tired _of his lies and finally begs James to just _tell _him, he knows, he wishes, no he hopes the truth finally comes spilling out his broken lips.

And he knows, he hopes, everything will be okay.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warning: **Mentions of child abuse, and a few swear words

There will be at least one more chapter, but maybe two. I couldn't help, but torture James a little more. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the first part of the story!

* * *

James doesn't know what to do anymore.

All he knows is that he can't do _this_ anymore.

He has everything he owns piled in front of the door. It's not that his father will try to get in his room, but it makes him feel safe, even for a moment, even if he knows the feeling isn't real.

His father just…James doesn't even want to think about what his father just did.

_It never happened. It never happened. It never happened, _he repeats over and over in his head, but it doesn't make it any less real.

He's breathing so hard from fear, and panic and downright terror that he thinks his lungs might burst from his chest. His heart thuds painfully against his ribcage and he is sobbing so hard he can't fucking _breathe _and he's not sure he wants to anymore.

He wishes the floor would swallow him whole, that a giant, black abyss would open and consume him, pulling him into nothingness. He wishes for something, anything, that wouldn't have left him alone in this situation.

But mostly James wishes he was brave, that he had the will to fight back or the courage to tell someone sooner.

But he didn't, he couldn't. And he's _so_ stupid. James has never hated himself more than he does in this moment. _This _wouldn't have happened if he had just _done_ something.

He clenches his eyes shut and squeezes his hands to ears trying to rip the memory from his mind, but it festers just behind his eyelids and James cannot help but relive what just happened over and over again.

James knew his father hated him. He knew his father was a heartless bastard, but he _never_…he never thought his father could do this to him.

He can't stay here anymore. It's too dangerous and he doesn't want to be in this place anymore, this hellhole where so many terrible things have happened.

He grabs his backpack with trembling hands, shoves some clothes in it and climbs out his window and starts running towards Kendall's house as fast as his tired legs will carry him.

It takes James nearly two hours to walk to Kendall's house and the walk does nothing to clear his head. He is still as confused and upset as when he left, but there is one thing he knows: he can't go back.

He can never go back.

It starts raining about half way there as if he is in some stupid, cliché filled movie. And he just knows the director is laughing at him, piling on as much misery as can possibly fit in the time frame given.

When he finally reaches Kendall's front door he's soaked to the point where he is sure the rain has seeped through his skin all the way to his bones.

Not for the first time that night, James is reminded of how much of an idiot he really is. He has no idea if Kendall is even home. All he knew was that he had to get away from his house and this was only place he wanted to be.

Relief washes over him when the door swings open and Kendall is staring back at him in surprise. He doesn't have to say a word, he never did, before a hand grabs his shirt and pulls him into the warm, comforting house.

James knows he is a mess. There is a fresh bruise on his cheek and he has a split lip. His hair is limp and lifeless and his clothes are dirty and soaked through because he didn't take the time to grab a jacket.

Thick, dark bruises circle around his neck from his father's fingers tightly gripping his throat until he couldn't _breathe _and everything was blurry and his body burned with agony. As he lay there confused from lack of oxygen and gasping for breath, his father and his girlfriend of the week, they…No. _It never happened, _James repeats over and over, because it can't be true. It can't.

He catches just a glimpse of Kendall's worried eyes before he's crying again and he can't even look at Kendall anymore because he's so ashamed. He feels like such a child, but he can't stop the tears that are running down his cheeks.

Before he knows it, he's stumbling and his knees give out. Gentle hands catch him and tenderly lower him to his knees.

"James," the other boy softly says.

Kendall grabs his hand and pulls him towards him. Their face to face and so close their chests are pressed together. Kendall's hand is holding his lightly, and his eyes are dark and serious as they bore through James surprised and cautious eyes.

_This is the day he's been waiting for, _he thinks, but the question remains of what exactly James is going to say.

Kendall is patient, waiting for him to say something, anything, but James can see in his eyes the burning anger. Just like he's tired with life, Kendall is tired of his lies.

_Tell me, _Kendall silently urges as his grip tightens around James' hand. Tears fall quietly down his cheeks, and he's ashamed, so ashamed of his failure, but Kendall simply wraps his free arm around James' waist and pulls him closer.

James buries his head in his best friend's shoulder and sobs.

"Please James," Kendall finally says and James can hear the tears in his voice. "Please tell me," Kendall begs, but the words in his head are scattered and confused. He's angry and upset, but so fucking relieved and happy, but he's so terrified that the words are _stuck _in his damn throat.

He doesn't know what to say, where to begin, or how to tell his best friend that his father _hates _him and it's all his fault.

He doesn't want Kendall to hate him too.

But Kendall waits silently, holding tightly onto James as he cries and he knows that it's time to say something. He can't keep living like this. He can't keep living in fear. And this is Kendall. Kendall could never hate him, he hopes.

James is already beyond destroyed by his father's harsh words and vicious fists. There's nothing left to break, nothing left to take away from him.

So he nods into Kendall's shoulder, because really how much worse could it get? Kendall tightens his grip around his waist and James thinks, maybe, he finally is ready. Maybe, just maybe Kendall will understand.

And he knows, he wishes, oh he hopes so badly it hurts, that everything will be fine.

* * *

Kendall is tired of James' lies.

James stumbles into homeroom, dark circles under his eyes and his hair is not nearly as perfect as it usually is.

"I'm just tired," James half mumbles his excuse when Carlos bluntly inquires about his condition.

Logan's lips purse in a tight frown as he shares a saddened look with Kendall. They both know James is lying. Kendall is so upset and frustrated with James and the situation that he's pissed off.

He has no idea what to do about it, though. All attempts at trying to forcibly pry the truth from his friend failed miserably, and the one time they got Carlos' father involved, James' father somehow managed to weasel himself out of all accusations. It didn't help that James had been utterly silent and stubbornly difficult throughout the whole ordeal.

It hurts so much watching James fall apart and knowing the only thing he can do is try and be there for him. James won't even allow that most of the time.

He wants to slap some sense into his best friend, but Kendall knows it wouldn't help.

Instead Kendall tells James, every chance that he gets, that he is there for him, that if there is ever anything he wants to talk about Kendall is always willing to listen. It's pure agony, though, knowing that is the only thing he _can _do.

James never does take him up on his offer. As he watches the taller boy walk away from him after the bell rings, Kendall's heart shatters all over again, completely aware of exactly what his friend is going home to, but unable to stop it.

It comes as huge shock then, to find James on his front step later that night, soaking wet and thoroughly miserable.

Somehow Kendall just knows James is finally ready to tell him. They haven't been close friends for nine years for nothing, after all.

James collapses to his knees and Kendall holds on to him tightly as the younger boy sobs. Tears well in his eyes because James is so obviously upset and in pain, and it _hurts _to see him this way. "Please James," he begs, "Please tell me." And he knows that James is painfully aware of exactly what he is talking about.

"I can't go back," James sobs as his free hand clutches at Kendall's shirt. "I can't go back," he repeats, his voice slightly elevated in panic.

He wants to tell James that everything is okay, but it's _not, _and it never has been.

"You don't have to go back if you don't want to," he says instead.

"He hates me," James whimpers.

"He doesn't deserve you," Kendall easily counters, desperately trying to keep his anger towards James' father out of his voice. If his father couldn't see what a wonderful person James is, then he doesn't deserve to have him for a son.

"It's my fault. I'm such a failure."

"You are _not _a failure," Kendall heatedly replies, failing to keep his rage from seeping through. He pulls away slightly and forces James chin up so that their eyes meet. "You are anything, _but _a failure. If your father can't see that, it's _his_ fault, not yours."

James says nothing and Kendall isn't sure if the other boy believes him or not. James' eyes look lost and confused and their glazed over and not quite focused on him. He's worried something might be seriously wrong.

"He tried to kill me," James suddenly whispers. The hand not clutched tightly to Kendall's hand rubs at his throat absentmindedly. For the first time Kendall notices the dark purple and black bruises that wrap around James' neck in thick angry bands.

He clenches his hand in a first and he is so angry he literally sees spots in his vision. Kendall is so mad he's shaking and it takes every ounce of will power he has not to storm out of the house and punch the bastard who didn't deserve to _live_, let alone lay a finger on his best friend.

"And then his girlfriend and he…they…they," James stutters, but does not finish. Kendall isn't sure he wants to know what happened.

He hugs the shivering boy again as a tear finally rolls down Kendall's cheek. He knows whatever it is, whatever happened, he will be there for James, every step of the way, every second.

Kendall is willing to do _anything _to help James.

He sees his mother from the corner of his eyes as she silently watches them. Kendall knows, no matter what happens, they will have her support.

They will get through this, he vows, they have to.

Because Kendall will accept nothing less.


	3. Chapter 3

As seen in the episode Big Time Mansion, I think Mrs. Knight is a very protective mother. She wouldn't just walk away when one of her children needed her, and I believe that would extend to Kendall's friends as well. So that's my justification for this chapter.

Ohh, and sorry Logan and Carlos aren't really in this story that much so far, but they will be making a major appearance in this story soon because things are about to get a whole lot worse for James in the next two chapters.

**Warning:** A few swear words and mentions of child abuse, I again gloss over what happened to James in this chapter, but I _will_ explain in the next one

* * *

Kendall's never really liked hospitals.

When he was just a child of six years old, he watched his grandfather being wheeled past those swinging doors he was never allowed to go through.

His grandfather never came back through those doors.

When he was just eight years old, he passed through those swinging doors well past midnight to see his grandmother. Half her body was paralyzed after a terrible stroke and she had no idea who he, or his mother, were.

His grandmother died in the hospital the next day.

When he was ten years old, Kendall lost his father to those swinging doors.

For the first ten years of his life, Kendall firmly believed that hospitals were places where people went to die. He had seen or known plenty of people who were rushed past those doors in the ER, but never had Kendall seen anyone who walked back through them.

When he was eleven years old, he broke his wrist playing street hockey with Logan, Carlos and James. When his mother told him she was taking him to the hospital to get it fixed, Kendall flipped out. He started crying and begging her not to make him go, because he didn't want to die, he didn't want to disappear behind those doors never to be seen, or heard from, again.

Kendall's pretty sure that's the first time he ever saw his mother cry.

He's been to the hospital many times since then for broken bones, stitches, and that one time Katie had pneumonia, and they've both come out alive. But Kendall's never quite been able to shake the ominous feeling that if one went through those swinging doors as a patient, they were never going to come back out.

He's seen it happen too many times before to let the feeling go.

He grasped James hand tightly in his own as the Doctor finally called his name. His mother insisted that they go to the hospital. They couldn't press charges against his father if there was no proof. Kendall couldn't argue with logic, and though James was uncomfortable with the idea, he agreed to come. He's so paranoid that if he lets go of James for just a second, though, takes his eyes away from the frightened, upset teen for just a moment, that James will disappear and Kendall will never see him ever again. Kendall is so certain that if he leaves for just a moment, the last memory he will ever have of James is seeing him lying miserable and alone on a cold, white hospital bed with unshed tears lingering behind dark eyelashes.

And Kendall cannot accept that.

He's incessantly pacing outside of James' hospital door at the moment, desperately trying to convince himself that his friend isn't going to disappear, that he _will _see James again, but it's so hard to believe.

He was forcefully removed by the nurses for some test, or something, they wanted to run without Kendall knowing what was going on. He's fairly certain he knows what they are doing in there anyways. James didn't actually tell him what happened with his father and his father's recent slut, but Kendall's good at putting together the pieces and he's fairly certain he figured out what happened.

He hopes to God he is wrong. He prays to any cosmic being _out there _that is imagination is just running wild. He wishes so bad for it not to be true, that he is willing to give his left arm.

When the nurses finally leave, Kendall cautiously peaks in and sees James lying on his side, back facing him. He wants to be relieved because James is still alive, he's still there, _but he doesn't have to be here, _Kendall thinks, _he shouldn't _be_ here. _

_He shouldn't have to go through this. _

He walks around the bed and slowly sits down in the chair facing James. There is one small, tan hand peaking out beneath the thin blanket and Kendall gently grabs it and holds on as he brushes away a few stray tears.

James tries to smile at him, but it wavers and falters, before slipping from his face. It never did reach his eyes.

Kendall tries to smile back, but fails miserably and settles instead on rubbing his thumb comfortingly along James' knuckles.

A Doctor is talking quietly with his mother in the corner and Kendall takes advantage of their moment alone to study James. A slight flush has settled on his feverish cheeks and he's shivering uncontrollably, one hand clenched tightly around the too thin blanket wrapped around his shoulders. His normally perfect hair is drenched with sweat and plastered to his forehead.

Kendall has never seen James look more miserable before. His brown eyes look so _lost _and they're trying so hard not to cry, not to be weak.

Kendall wants to comfort him, to find the right words to say, but there are none, and he's never been in this situation before. _They've _never been in this situation before.

His mother approaches, eyes downcast. "The Doctor is keeping you here overnight, James. He's worried about your fever."

James doesn't turn to face her. His eyes lock with Kendall's and he gives a barely perceptible nod saying he understands.

"The Doctor says we can't stay, Kendall. Only family is allowed."

Kendall's eyes narrow dangerously and he frowns in anger. "We _are _his family," he stubbornly says.

"It's okay," James hoarsely whispers to him. His voice strained after his throat was nearly crushed. "I'll be fine."

Kendall doesn't believe that.

He clenches his jaw and stares defiantly at his mother. "I'm not leaving," he tells her and squeezes his hand tightly around James'.

He's not leaving and that is final. He can't control what happens outside of the hospital, he can't protect James forever, and he definitely cannot predict what will happen next.

But for tonight, for just this one night, he _can _be there, he can be _here _for James, he can beat the loneliness back and he can give James the love and acceptance his father never gave him.

For just this one night, he _can_ protect James and he is going to do just that. And no one is going to make him leave.

* * *

Challen Knight considered herself a nice and friendly person, but James' father was a downright bastard. The Doctor gave Challen a brief description of James' condition and never in her wildest dreams did she _ever _believe anyone could be so _cruel _to their own son. If she ever saw that filthy piece of trash ever again, she would…well she didn't know what she would do, but it was nothing good.

She wasn't very fond of James' Doctor either, though.

He wants to keep the poor boy in the hospital overnight _and_ he wants _her_ to leave. Challen doesn't think that's a good idea. James shouldn't be alone, not tonight.

She argued with the doctor. She could take good care of him at her house, but the doctor won't discharge him and Challen doesn't have the right to forcibly discharge him against medical advice.

She isn't, after all, his guardian.

Kendall adamantly refused to leave James' side, even after the young boy assured her son that he would be fine by himself. Challen had the horrible suspicion that James was used to being alone.

"We _are _his family," her son said and it tore at her heart. "I'm not leaving."

As she saw the teenager curled up on his side on the bed, his back turned to her and his shoulders shivering in a cold chill under the thin blanket, Challen knew she could not just leave him there.

_James would never be alone again_, she vowed.

She walked back to the bed, where she defiantly sat down next to her son's injured friend.

"We're not leaving," she told the doctor. "We're his family."

Kendall's eyes widened in surprise and welled up with tears of happiness and relief.

"Don't you dare protest," she told James when the boy immediately opened his mouth to retort. He immediately snapped his mouth shut cutting off any protest he might have made. "We both love you very much and we are not leaving you here alone," she told him as she tucked the blankets firmly around his thin shoulders.

"That's right!" Kendall beamed at his friend.

"Thank you," James said in a small voice that tugged painfully at her heart strings.

She smiled softly at him and ran her hand through his sweat soaked hair.

"Rest, sweetie," she commanded when she saw him fight to keep his eyes open, the drugs pulling him under.

James nodded softly and soon he was fast asleep.

"Goodnight, James." Challen kissed his forehead and leaned back in the horribly uncomfortable plastic chair and prepared for a long night of silent vigilance over the feverish child.

* * *

The police showed up ridiculously early in the morning for James' statement. The teen was well rested and sometime during the night his fever broke, but one look in his brown eyes and she knew he wasn't any less miserable than he was the night before.

Kendall held his hand tightly, as she sat quietly by his side as the young, traumatized boy monotonously described how long his father had been abusing him, what his father does to him, and what exactly happened last night.

She had her suspicions, the doctor had his speculations, but to hear it come straight from the source and have James tell her it _did _happen, had Challen crying the tears James' couldn't.

She excused herself quietly from the room, only to run right into a young lady.

"Hi, I'm Jodi," the short, red-headed lady in a light purple suit said. "Is this James Diamond's room?"

"Yes," Challen cautiously responded, wary of the young woman.

The young woman easily picked up on her defensiveness. "I'm from social services," she explained. "I'm here to take James to foster care."

Challen's eyes wandered to the small window on the heavy door of James' room.

James was leaning forward, face buried into his hands as Kendall rubbed his back soothingly.

_He's been through enough, _she decided.

"I'll take him," she hastily blurted out.

"Excuse me?" The young woman, Jodi, asked, confused as to whether or not she had heard Challen right.

"I'm a registered foster parent," she continued. Her late husband insisted that they register to become foster parents. Karl Knight was orphaned at the age of 13, and he bounced around from foster home to foster home until he was 18. He'd been in a lot of terrible homes and a few good ones, and if there was one thing he was passionate about, it was becoming a foster parent so he could take care of children like himself, children that had no where else to go.

They'd never actually taken in a foster child, but Challen thinks, maybe it's about time _she _did.

"That's okay, right?" She said more than asked, using that tone of voice she often used with her children that demanded to be obeyed.

The social worked looked surprised, but pleased. "Of course that's fine," she said, "as long as the paperwork is okay, you can take James home today and we can work things out from there."

She spent the next two hours filling out ridiculous amounts of paperwork with an overly cheery social worker, but it was well worth it when Jodi handed Challen a copy of her temporary custody of James.

She didn't know what she was doing, she had never been in this situation before, but Challen was willing to try anything to help the boy that had become like a second son to her.

"We're going home," she demanded when she reentered the room with a wheelchair, James' discharge papers in hand. (She had been more than a little elated at being able to sign them and rub it in the Doctor's face.) "Kendall, pack James' stuff. James you're going to stay with us, honey, for as long as you want."

"Mrs. Knight, you really don't—" James began, but she quickly interrupted.

"I want to. You've been like a son to me since Kendall dragged you home nine years ago, James, and I want you to be a part of this family."

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. Kendall nodded vigorously next to her. James looked up at her, eyes wide in surprise and looking so innocent, the barest hint of a smile on his face. Challen knew she'd made the right decision.

If his father didn't want him, then Challen Knight was more than willing to be his family.


	4. Chapter 4

I've had this chapter written for a while now, but I was really hesitant to post it. I'm usually about the subtly, but this chapter is all about the detail and if that doesn't make sense now, it will. I really wanted to get across what James was feeling, though. With that said I am a little overly cautious, so I have increased the rating of this chapter due to the content. This Chapter is **Rated M** for **graphic descriptions of child abuse** and **strong adult themes** in the second half of this chapter. If you do not wish to read that part or if you feel like it will make you uncomfortable, please feel free to skip it, because it does get slightly disturbing.

Carlos and Logan will be in the next chapter, I promise.

**

* * *

Chapter Four:**

Juan Garcia encountered some of the world's most despicable people on a daily basis. He dealt with thieves who robbed the elderly, pathetic men who conned the ignorant and trusting, murderers, rapists, and even the downright psychotic.

But David Diamond was still one of the most disgusting criminals Officer Garcia ever had the pleasure of arresting. He was, perhaps, _the_ most horrible person the seasoned officer had the displeasure to meet in his entire life.

David Diamond thought he could get away with anything. The delusional CEO believed he was invincible, untouchable, that he was somehow above the laws of the common man because he had the money and the power to buy the best lawyers in town.

Thus far, in his pampered life, Diamond had gotten away with every wicked misdeed he committed. He was absolved of every crime he had been accused of, because of some loophole, or because he bought someone off, bribed someone until his malfeasance disappeared, vanished into thin air and shredded paper.

This time, though, this time the rich bastard was going to pay for what he did to his son. The wealthy CEO managed to evade child abuse charges the last time, but this time they had James' cooperation and his medical records that clearly screamed abuse.

David Diamond wasn't going to get away with it anymore.

Or at least that is what Officer Garcia thought until his Captain gave him his new orders with a grim face.

"We are being ordered by the court to send the kid back to his father," his Captain commanded. "He's claiming he had nothing to do with what happened. That it was all his girlfriend's doing."

Garcia stood before his Captain's desk calmly, helmet tucked under his arm. As soon as he heard those words, though, he clenched his jaw, his anger building in a tight knot in his stomach. He desperately wanted to break something, or smash his fist forcibly into the desk before him, but he just finished taking sensitivity training for the seventh time and they always say not to express his anger in violent manners.

It doesn't stop him from envisioning himself throwing everything on his Captain's desk violently against the wall and watching it shatter irreparably.

There is no way in _hell _he is taking one of his son's _best friends _back to his horrible, rotten, spoiled, abusive, asshole for a father.

But his Captain already knew that.

"Take care of it," Captain Turner tells him and gives him a pointed look.

Officer Garcia knows that look. He can't help the wicked smile that flickers across his face.

The entire department is not very fond of Mr. Diamond. The wealthy bastard has been arrested many times in his life for drunken driving, assault, child abuse, public nudity, and driving without a license and he had been given many tickets for speeding and other traffic violations, but every damn time the slimy little rat bastard wormed his way out of every single charge. He liked to rub it in the department's faces too when he got away with it.

Officers in this department tended to hold grudges and they were all hoping to finally make the accusations stick. Even his Captain wanted to see this man finally be forced to pay the consequences for his selfish actions.

His listened intently as his Captain explained the details to him, before he jumped on his motorcycle and headed for the Knight's house.

Officer Garcia did not quite know yet what he was going to do. And he desperately wished Challen was willing to fight with them. But whatever he decided, he knew his fellow officers would have his back.

David Diamond, the untouchable Goliath, was finally being brought down by his own doing.

* * *

James can't sleep. There are hands holding him down, caressing him, voices whispering to him.

"_You need to become a man," _his father's harsh voice echoes when he catches James reading a fashion magazine. His father didn't like it when he did girly things like obsessing over his hair, and having a good sense of style. He hated that James was so pretty. James looked and acted so much like his mother, it was a little unsettling, it was a little too reminiscent of the past.

David Diamond was a cold hearted bastard who cared nothing for his son, or the many women he dated and tossed away, but at one point in his miserable life, he loved Delilah Diamond.

David Diamond didn't need the constant reminder of the mistakes he had made, or the daily reminder of the only person he ever loved and lost because of his stupidity.

James, therefore, was a thorn in his side that needed to be dealt with and removed.

He tried hard to hide the things he loved from his father, like fashion, his mother's lucky comb, his obsession with perfection so that he would not set his father off on one of his rampages.

Sometimes he wasn't so lucky, though, sometimes David didn't need a trigger at all.

Tonight, tonight was one of those nights James knew he should have never come home. He should have stayed at Kendall's. But he stayed there the last four nights in a row, and he didn't want to impose his presence on them any longer, he didn't want to be such a bother to them.

He didn't want to wear out his welcome and never be allowed over there again.

But it's too late for wishful thinking now. A hand snatches him and painfully grips his arm. His father drags him from his room and forces him down the hallway into the master bedroom. James can smell the alcohol on his father's breath and it's been weeks since he's even seen his father, let alone had one of these _incidents._ He's so terrified it hurts to breathe and he's shaking so bad he has to stumble behind his father because his legs refuse to cooperate, refuse to work properly.

He doesn't want to go in there. Every time his father drags him to the master bedroom, James is forced to endure the most painful experiences of his life. Like the time his father locked him in the closest for the first time, or the first time his father took a belt to his back, or the time his father had sex and forced him to watch, because _'James was too much of a woman and needed to learn what being a man was.'_

His father's bimbo girlfriend is lying on the bed, lazily flicking through a magazine. Her eyes barely flicker over the top to look at them, disinterest colored across her plastic face.

_Dear god, please not again, please, _he begs over and over in head because he doesn't want to watch his father have sex again, doesn't want to hear the fake moans and the sick thrusts and be unable to block it out.

His father pushes him so forcefully he falls onto the bed, sprawled awkwardly next to the bleached blonde women he has never met before.

"_You're going to learn what real men do," _his father's sinister voice whispers in his ear, before he motions to his girlfriend.

The woman, who can't be older than 18, rolls her eyes and straddles hips.

He panics, his father can't think that…No. He refuses to do that. He pushes the girl off of him.

"_Don't fight it James," _his father hisses. There are hands around his throat suddenly and his only source of oxygen is forcibly cut off.

He starts struggling wildly, his panic and the lack of air throwing away any coherent thought he might have been able to muster. He's fighting for his _life_.

His vision begins to fade. Darkness creeps along the edge of his vision like a predator stalking its prey. James thinks this might finally be it and he doesn't know how he feels about that. He always thought people just kind of…accepted it before it happened, but James feels nothing. He's just numb. He wants to laugh at the irony, but he can't.

His father suddenly lets go, just before James was about to pass out. His thoughts are scattered and confused and he tries to form a single thought, but finds he can't.

His father is telling him to do something, but James' can't hear anything past the ringing in his ears, he cannot understand the words his father is saying.

A fist collides with the side of his face, but he barely feels the punch and it only increases the confusion in his mind. It's like being stuck under water. Everything is blurry and not quite focused and he can't hear anything, because it is all muffled by the thick heavy water surrounding him. The weight of it is pressing on his chest and it hurts to breathe, so he takes short, rapid breaths, but it doesn't clear his head at all. It only makes things worse.

He's trying so hard to pull himself together that he doesn't notice when slim, toned legs straddle his waist until perfectly manicured fingers are scratching down his chest.

The pain pulls him closer to reality, closer to sanity, but not close enough to clear the confusion.

His pants and underwear are pooled around his ankle and he's not quite sure when that happened either or when his father decided to wrap his thick hands around his wrists and pin them to the bed. _"You're going to enjoy this," _his father demands. _"You're going to be a real man." _

James tries not to focus on what happens next, tries to let his mind wander to someplace else, tries to let his eyes center on anything in the room but the blonde women above him and the slender fingers stroking him.

It doesn't help. From the corner of her eye, he sees her slip out of her underwear and slide onto him and damn if doesn't feel good.

He's so ashamed of those thoughts that he's crying, tears are slipping down his wet cheeks faster than he can tell them not to.

"_Don't be such a baby," _his father's angry voice growls in his ear. _"You _will _enjoy this." _

But he doesn't. He doesn't like this at all. He _endures _it, until the women is done and slips off of him.

His father scowls at him in disappointment, before he drags James off the bed and throws him in the closet, locking the door behind him.

He pathetically sobs until his eyes hurt and his chest is heaving so badly it hurts. When his father finally lets him out, hours later, his thoughts are still scattered and confused, but the tears have dried and he's just so numb.

He stumbles out of the closet on shaky legs, his father sneering behind him, and staggers into his room…

_No! _he screams in his mind as his eyes snap open. He _has _to stop thinking about it, he has to forget, he has to stop remembering.

_It never happened, it never happened, it never happened, _he screams over and over again in his head and for a second he almost believes it, but then his mind wanders back to the skinny blonde woman with the hauntingly blank eyes and he has to shake his head to clear his thoughts.

He jumps out of bed because he knows he isn't going to get any sleep. He's too restless and on edge and he's just so jittery. He starts wandering without even really knowing where he is going and he somehow finds himself at the bottom of the stairs.

He hears arguing though, and it stops him. The arguing brings him back to a time when he was just a child and he would listen to his parents' daily screaming matches.

He used to hide in the closet, until his father locked him in there for the first time. He never wanted to go into the closet again after that.

James took to hiding at the bottom of the stairs after that, with his little hands clenched tightly to his ears. It was the farthest point from any closets in the house and it was the one place in the house he felt the least claustrophobic.

Yelling always reminded of him of being stuck in that tiny, closed confined space with the walls inching closer and closer until they were crushing him and it's so dark, he can't even see his hand in front of his face and he has no idea what else is in the room with him, what else is there that can hurt him.

James leans his head between his knees and takes as deep a breath as he can to calm the panic welling inside of him.

It is just Mrs. Knight and Officer Garcia. _They would never hurt him, _he tells himself, _he's safe. _But somehow James just doesn't believe that.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no no. I am _not _letting him go back there," he hears Mrs. Knight heatedly reply to whatever Carlos' father said and he's confused for just a second before Officer Garcia responds.

"His lawyers got your temporary custody revoked, Challen. If you keep him here, his father will press charges against you." Panic starts to well in his chest again. _His father wants him back?_

"Let him," she hisses, her voice dangerously low and possessive. "I'll get a lawyer if I have to. I'm not sending him back there."

James is shaking his head back and forth. He can't go back, he can't go back there, but...but he can't stay here either. He's so panicked he misses the next part of the conversation, but when he finally forces a small semblance of calm into his mind, the next thing he hears is:

"Mr. Diamond doesn't play fairly, Challen. He's probably going to throw a lot of slander and abuse towards you and your family," he hears Carlos' father tell Mrs. Knight and he flinches at the blunt reality of the harsh words. _He should have know. He doesn't want to go back there, but..._

"You wanted to know if I could handle it. I may not want Kendall and Katie to have to go through this, but I know they both can handle it and so can I," she responds.

James suddenly feels like an idiot. He never should have come here, never should have left his house, never should have told Kendall. His father was right, James was so just so worthless, he can't do anything right.

All he ever did was hurt the people he loved, first his mother and his father and now the Knights.

"For years, Juan, he's been tortured by his father," he hears Mrs. Knight tell the retreating Officer. "He's been beaten, and continuously told he wasn't good enough, that's he worthless. And we just _let _it happen. We did _nothing. _The least I can do now is finally stand up for him, finally put his father in his place. It's the least _we _can do."

_She feels __guilty_, he thinks and James knows what he has to do. He couldn't let them do this for him, especially not out of guilt. His father always won, _always_. If he stayed here it would only end up hurting the people he loved. He _has _to go back. He has to do something right in his life for once and spare the Knights the trouble that is sure to come.

James stumbles up the stairs and into the spare bedroom. He packs what few belongings he has with him, writes a quick note to Mrs. Knight thanking her for her hospitality and quietly sneaks out the house.

Quietly, alone, he walks the long journey back to the very pits of hell, the very place he should have known he could never escape.


	5. Intermission to Depravity

**Intermission to Depravity **

James' wasn't settling in well, but Challen wasn't really surprised. The poor child was uncomfortable, he was upset, and he was terrified, but she couldn't really blame him at all.

This was new territory for all of them, and they were all trying their best to accommodate, to adapt with the changes and still act as normal as possible. Even Katie was trying.

But it wasn't enough and she knew it would be a long time before James ever felt comfortable again.

It had been a long tiring day and she hoped all three of her children were sleeping peacefully upstairs. She knew better than to believe that, though.

Kendall, she knew without even having to check, was lying awake in his bed, worried about James. Challen was worried too, and she couldn't help, but check on James exactly every ten minutes. Last time she checked, James was lying down with eyes still wide open and his lucky comb clutched tightly in a white-knuckled grip. Every light in the room was on because James, she found, was terrified of the dark.

James was so _nervous _and _tense _around her too. Every time Challen noticed it, she couldn't help the sadness that crept into her eyes, or the heartache that pricked her in the chest.

Challen can't believe she's never noticed it before, the flinches, the jumpiness, how easily startled he always was. But it's painfully obvious now and it is tearing her apart knowing James is afraid of her, of being _here_, and terrified over defying his father.

The poor child is so certain that he's going to turn the corner and there his father will be; ready to punish him for disobeying.

Challen is not going to let that happen. She just has to convince James of that too.

Officer Garcia is not helping at all in that matter, though, at the moment.

"His father wants him back. His lawyers are claiming you _kidnapped_ James," Garcia calmly tells her after she kindly let him in and handed him a cup of coffee.

Her eyes widened in surprise, as she nearly spit her own coffee from her mouth.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no no. I am _not _letting him go back there," she heatedly replies, because the terrified child currently (and _permanently_) inhabiting her guest bedroom is not leaving this house to go back to that god awful place.

"His lawyers got your temporary custody revoked, Challen. If you keep him here, his father will press charges against you."

"Let him," she hisses, her voice dangerously low and possessive. How could Juan even _suggest_ the idea of making James go back? "I'll get a lawyer if I have to. I'm not sending him back there."

"Challen," the officer begins, but she has heard enough.

"His _father _tried to _kill_ him, Juan," she heatedly whispers. "His father locks him in a closest! He's terrified of the dark because he's been locked in that closest so much, did you know that?" her voice breaks.

Officer Garcia shakes his head evenly. _No, he didn't know that_.

"But it's not enough that he keeps his son in a closest," she continues, "but he's gotta teach James how to be a _man_. His _father _forced him to have sex with that stupid blonde _bitch_ of his because James really needs to 'man up,'" she sarcastically and scathingly says as her eyes angrily bore into Officer Garcia's relaxed one's. "He's fourteen for god's sake! And you want to send him back to that?" Challen is nearly hysterical at this point and breathing heavily from her angry rant.

Juan Garcia had _no _right to be so calm about this. "That boy has been through enough! I don't care what his father says, or does. He's staying here," she demands and jabs a finger into his chest for emphasis.

The officer is silent for a long moment, and it is starting to make Challen nervous. She knows Garcia could easily shove her aside and force James to go with him, but she's not about to back down now.

He places his chin in his hand and rubs it absentmindedly as if he is lost in thought before he suddenly says, "I was hoping you would say that!"

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. That was not quite what she was expecting Juan to say.

"I'm not letting him go back there, either, Challen," he tells her and places a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. "We've got the whole police department on our side, but it isn't going to be easy taking on James' father. I'm sorry if it wasn't quite the right way to go about it, but…"

"You were testing me?"

"Mr. Diamond doesn't play fairly. He's probably going to throw a lot of slander and abuse towards you and your family."

"You wanted to know if I could handle it." The officer nods and she finally understands, but that doesn't mean she has to like what Garcia did. He could have just _told _her that.

Challen doesn't think his sensitivity training has paid off at all.

"I may not want Kendall and Katie to have to go through this, but I know they both can handle it and so can I," she determinedly states.

Satisfied, the officer gives her a small smile and turns to leave but her tired, defeated voice stops him as his hand rests on the handle of the front door.

"For years, Juan, he's been tortured by his father. He's been beaten, and continuously told he wasn't good enough, that's he worthless. And we just _let _it happen. We did _nothing. _The least I can do now is finally stand up for him, finally put his father in his place. It's the least _we _can do."

Juan Garcia doesn't turn to face her, but his shoulders sag heavily under the guilt pressing down on him, the same guilt that weighs heavily on her heart.

There was so much more they could have done and never did, so much more they could have seen and never did, so much more they could have said and just never did.

It didn't have to come this.

"I know," he says. "But we're gonna make it right now. He's not going to win this time." He pauses for the briefest second, "I'll tell his father he wasn't here."

His hand hesitates on the handle and with a little less confidence than what he showed up with, Juan Garcia falters through the door knowing full well how true her words are.

Challen stumbles to the couch after he leaves and lets her heavy head fall into her hands. She forces her tears not to fall as she is painfully reminded of all the mistakes she has made, of all the hints and clues she'd noticed over the years and just ignored. How James had been silently crying for help the entire time, and it never came.

_What would Delilah say? _

She doesn't know how long she sits there for, how long she wallows in self pity, but it is far longer than she should have and she misses her ten minute mark to check up on James. Before she knows it her eyes are drifting shut as she settles into the cushions and drifts into an exhausted, restless sleep.

She wakes to a panicked voice frantically calling out "Mom!" Challen is on her feet before she even fully awakens when she sees Kendall flying down the stairs.

She doesn't even need to ask before Kendall hysterically answers.

"James is gone."

* * *

Kendall can't help, but lie awake and think about James.

He's not usually this unsettled. Kendall is always the calm one, always the one with a plan to get them out of trouble. He's never nervous, never on edge and he rarely gets panicked.

But he doesn't have a plan now, he doesn't know how to solve this and it bothers him so much, he's restless and wide awake though it's almost two in the morning.

Kendall wants to help James, but he doesn't know how. He can't keep his thoughts off the older boy. He knows his friend is uncomfortable here. James never was one to accept help from others.

And it can't be easy what he has gone through. It took a lot of courage for James to run away from his father. It took a lot of strength to endure everything his father had done to him.

Kendall is very proud of James for finally standing up for himself.

That thought doesn't make him any less worried about his brown eyed friend. He wants to get up and check on him, but he's not sure if James would appreciate it or not.

James doesn't like it here. He would never say such a thing out loud, but Kendall can tell. It's not that James isn't relieved to be away from his abusive father and completely ecstatic to be taken in by his best friends' family. It's just that James is so terrified of his father, of what he will do when he finds out James left. And the teen feels like such a burden on the Knight family.

Kendall doesn't know how to convince him that he's not and he never could be.

His troubled thoughts won't leave him alone. He has to reassure himself that James is okay before he can sleep, so he quietly sneaks out of his room and cautiously peaks through the door of the guest bedroom.

It's not quite what he was expecting to find, though, when he catches a quick glance through the crack in the door. He throws the door wide open, hoping he is wrong, that he just missed him at first glance, but the room is still empty.

James is gone.

There is a perfectly folded note on the neatly made bed in the guest bedroom. There is no sign of the former occupant, everything James brought with him was packed and gone, except for the lucky comb placed fastidiously over the note.

It's as if James suspects he isn't coming back, that he isn't going to need it anymore. _Why else would he leave the comb? _Kendall silently questions and it forces a flicker of panic through him. That comb is the second most important thing in James' life, next to his friends. For him to purposefully leave it behind says more than anyone knows.

With delicate movements he sets the comb on the desk next to the bed and picks up the note with trembling hands.

* * *

_James is such an _idiot, Kendall thinks as he reads the letter before handing it off to his mother. The selfish bastard was _willingly _going back to his father because he _'couldn't let them go through this for him,' _and he _'he didn't want anyone getting hurt because of him.' _

Didn't he realize that by going back to his father, he was hurting people? He was hurting Kendall and his mother, Katie, Logan, Carlos and all the other people that were trying to help him through this. Out of all the stupid things James had done in his life, this definitely topped the list.

"How could he do this?" he quietly asks and he's not aware he's even spoken the words out loud until his mother wraps an arm around his shoulder.

"He's just doing what he thinks is best, Kendall," she tries to reassure, but his mother looks about as terrified as he feels.

Why didn't James talk to him, at least? Oh that's right, James never wanted to tell him anything, never wanted to talk, wanted to bottle his emotions up until he couldn't take it anymore and he was crying at Kendall's front doors because he was _raped _by his father's girlfriend.

He's not _bitter, _or upset, just…disappointed.

"We have to find him."

They had to find James before he returned to his father. They had to knock some sense into his thick skull and convince the stubborn teen that this was _not _the best to thing to do.

He doesn't want to admit it, but...Kendall has an odd feeling twisted in his tight chest that if they don't find James before he returns home, he's never going to see him again.

His mother is nearly as panicked as he is when they call Carlos' father. It was almost three in the morning, but Officer Garcia was at their door in minutes.

"Calm down, Challen. I'll have some officers patrol the streets for him and I'll send a unit over to his house right away, okay?" Officer Garcia responds when his mother rambled off the whole story to him in jumbled pieces and stuttered parts.

His mother nods, but it's not enough for Kendall. He wants to go search for James, no one can get through to the other boy like he can. And if the cops find James first they're just gonna terrify the traumatized teen. Neither adult in the room is gonna let him go out in the streets at three in the morning to search for James, though.

Kendall's never really been a patient person, and the next hour is the longest hour of his life. He never knew a short 60 minutes could feel so painfully long before.

His chest feels tight and uncomfortable and nobody speaks a single word the entire time they are waiting for news. The only sound in the room is the soft _tick tick tick_ of the old wind up clock on the living room wall meticulously counting the number of seconds that James isn't there.

He picks anxiously at the blanket on the couch, eyes fixated on the front door, silently begging for his friend to walk back through it.

His mother begs him to god to bed, but Kendall can't sleep. He cannot possibly rest not knowing where James is, or what is happening to him. So he stares wide eyed, straight ahead at nothing, until the first knock happens upon the front door.

The sound is so sudden, Kendall jerks from his seat, a startled gasp catching in his throat. It's the officers Carlos' father sent to the Diamond household.

"His father says he hasn't seen James," the young officer says and Kendall's chest starts to ache. "I'm sorry, Garcia, we can't go in without a warrant."

Officer Garcia merely nods and thanks his fellow officers before letting them out.

Kendall wants to be angry at them. They should have tried harder. They should have broken down the damn door and searched for James. But he can't hate them for doing their job.

The officers sent to patrol the streets yield the same results. They haven't seen James anywhere.

Kendall wants to scream at them 'well try harder then!' But he doesn't. He holds his tongue. If James didn't want to be found, he wasn't going to be. He always was good at hiding.

Kendall lets his head fall in his hands.

They wait until almost five in the morning, but no news on his lost friend is forthcoming. The search isn't called off, but Kendall has lost all hope of finding him.

_It's too late_, something is screaming in his mind, but he has to ignore that voice. He has to.

The rain starts to fall with the rising sun. Lightning streaks across the sky like an antelope running away from the thunderous roar of a hungry lion.

Garcia finally leaves, perfectly aware that there is nothing more that he can do and Kendall is depressed to see him go. It means he has to give up hope too.

But he keeps staring at the door with hot tears are streaming down his face. He keeps hoping this is all dream.

He knows that's just wishful thinking, though.

_He failed, _he thinks, _he failed to protect James. Failed his job of best friend. _

Nobody knows where James is, but James. There's nothing any of them can do now, but wait.

So wait he does.

* * *

He's drunk again out of victory and anger. He knew his pathetic son would come crawling back to him, begging for forgiveness. But there is a bitter taste of teenage rebellion still lingering among his senses. And though he tried to viciously beat it out him, he knows this isn't the last he's seen of his son's defiance.

He'd never felt such _satisfaction _before at hearing the muffled cries his worthless brat made as his belt lashed against naked skin, or the pop of his shoulder as it dislocated because of his aggressive pulling. A thrill of sheer pleasure surged through him when he felt the bones in the unruly child's arm snap beneath his fingers. The scream wrenched from his son's lips still brings a spark of joy to his drunken mind.

He gets behind the wheel, not quite sure of where he wants to go. He just knows he needs to leave. Maybe after some time alone the brat will learn to obey his father's commands.

The roads were deserted, the rain beating harshly against his windshield kept most people inside their homes today, but nothing could stop him. Not even this brutal fall storm.

Through the foggy haze in his mind and the rain beating down like waves on the ocean, he saw the quick turn in the windy mountain road. But not soon enough to sharply maneuver the steep curve.

Tires squealed across wet pavement before skidding off the road. His little red mustang flew off the cliff before his hazy drunken mind could even comprehend what was happening.

He had a brief, fleeting second to realize he finally met his match, before the car smashed to the ground in a roar of squealing metal and a thunderous rumble of shattering glass.

David Diamond, number one narcissistic asshole and worst father of the year, died on impact.

And no one, but David, knew where his son was.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five: Delusional Dreams  
**

This is what dying feels like.

Silence so absolute he can barely hear his own harsh breathing past the stale air smothering his staggering chest. Darkness so overpowering he can't even see his fingers let alone prove they're even there. Trapped in an inescapable prison, alone and wanting. The hope and belief, that tomorrow will come, tomorrow will be better, that once burned brightly in his passionate eyes, is slowly extinguished by the harsh reality that today is all he has left. Pain so intense his heart beats sluggishly, ready to give up the long fight, ready to surrender to the enemy with no name, and no face, _to a common fear called death._

There is _nothing_ to reassure him that he is even still alive at all.

_I…I don't wanna die. _

Hands are clawing at his skin, tearing him apart, piece by piece, memory by memory, until there is nothing left, not even his sanity. And there are eyes, beady red eyes in the darkness, glaring at him menacingly, daring him to fall asleep. The monsters, corned in the closet like James and the rest of his fathers' junk, will devour him whole if he hazards closing his eyes, even for just one second.

He can't take his eyes off the beast trapped in the closet with him or tomorrow will never come. Kendall will never know, then, how sorry he is for leaving to protect him. Mama Knight will never hug him again; tell him how much he is loved and that this isn't his fault. It never was. Carlos and he will never pull a crazy stunt again. And he'll never have an epic study party with Logan that ends with them pulling pranks and staying up well past midnight on a school night.

_There is no monster_,he tries to reassure himself, but the beady red eyes remain, staring at him in anticipation, waiting for his eyes to slip close only to never open again.

Death is staring him in the face, literally.

_Please god. I don't want to die._

His eyes falter shut. He's just so tired, and thirsty. His throat feels like desert sand under a harsh summer sun. Everything feels like it is spinning, like the whole room is twirling round and round. Though he's lying on the ground, curled up in a tight ball on his side, head resting on the cold ground, his body feels so heavy, so numb...

_Lash upon lash reigns down on his naked back. He barely has a chance to breathe before the next blow forces the air from his lungs. The pain is so intense his vision is blurred, and it feels as if a fire has been set to his skin. Blood trickles down his back and it tickles despite the agony burning through his senses. He laughs at the irony, but it only makes his father angry…_

The blood that dripped down his back has long since caked over, leaving nothing but a searing pain tearing through his fragile mind every time he dares to even breathe.

_His father drags him to his feet by a tight grip on his wrist. With a sickening 'pop' he can _feel _his shoulder sliding out of place. Bone grinds against bone sending a lightning hot bolt of intense agony shooting down his arm. The pain is so intense, for a moment he passes out, but he is quickly revived by a sharp kick to his ribs…_

His dislocated shoulder throbs in agony with every sluggish beat of his heart and it steals his breath away just to touch it, let alone move it. The broken arm is so swollen and numb that he can't even feel it, though.

Thank God for small mercies.

He can't move, can't bring his feet to cooperate, can't make his arms lift him up, can't even sit. His whole body burns in agony and yet it feels like he is floating on a rain cloud, drifting carelessly in the night sky, away from the cramped closet and death on a cold floor…

_No! _His eyes snap open. He can't give up, not yet.

He…he has to tell Kendall he's sorry.

_I…I'm sorry, Kendall. _

He's shivering in the hot, stuffy cage, a cold sweat dripping from his brow, stinging bruised and broken flesh.

The wall is closing in on him, the closet shrinking centimeter by tormenting centimeter, bringing him closer to the demon with emotionless red eyes.

He can't breathe, the air is so thick it won't go into his lungs. His gasps, panting harshly, hands curled tightly in fists over his hears to block out the screeching of the walls as they move in closer, crushing him slowly until there is nothing left.

_This room used to be so much bigger, _he panics as the ceiling inches closer to him. If he could move, he could almost reach his arm out and touch the smooth white plaster of the unfinished ceiling of what used to be his mother's closet.

It still smells like her_. _

James doesn't know how long he's been locked in the closet. At first he spent his time trying to quell his rising panic. _His father usually only leaves him for a couple of hours,_ he tried reminding himself. Before long, though, he realized his father wasn't coming back. He was stuck here, forever. He started banging on the door, sobbing hysterically against the impenetrable barrier, begging for Kendall, for anyone to let him out.

_Please Kendall, I'm so, so, sorry. _

His strength quickly fled. He curled up on the floor and he knows, he knows it's been far too long. He's going to die here, he's going to…

_Please god, I don't want to die. _

He doesn't want to die in here, alone and unloved. He's just wants to tell Kendall he's sorry for disappointing him, he just wants to live. He can't be in here, he can't, he has to escape, he has to breathe and be alive and be walking in the bright sun, with the soft grass and first of the fall leaves sliding beneath his bare feet.

He'd even brave Minnesota's harshest blizzard if it meant he didn't have to be here anymore.

There are no more tears to cry, no strength left in his weak, tired limbs, so he lies on the floor, begging, whispering, over and over again for the door to please open, he'll do anything.

_Please, just, let me go._

But it never does.

Two warm arms materialize out of the darkness and wrap around his trembling frame from behind. Long brown hair cascades over his shoulder and soft lips press a soothing kiss to the top of his head.

"_Mama," _he sighs contentedly, the pain in his chest easing away in her presence.

Smooth lips curve in small smile against the back of his neck.

"_Mama, I've missed you so much," _his voice breaks, a sob catching in his throat, all the pain and anguish of the last five years without her tightly laced in his words.

She doesn't say a single word. A hand leaves his waist and wraps around his fist still pressed to his ear. The screeching of the walls vanishes, the darkness brightens just enough for him to see two white arms wrapped around him, fingers interlaced. He feels the warmth and love spreading through him. There is a slight tingling in his spine, the agony of his broken body recedes like the tide.

She holds him, for a long time and he rests peacefully, the dark beady red eyes held at bay by her warmth and love.

But then suddenly she is gone, the arms vanish, her warmth disappears. _"Please don't leave me," _he pleads.

But it is too late. She is already gone.

James opens his eyes, not entirely sure when they slipped shut, or why he didn't have a say in whether or not they stayed open.

Beyond the haze of pain and thirst and exhaustion so deep, even his bones are sighing in fatigue, there is one thing he knows. Death is staring him in the face, still, two beady red eyes glaring in the darkness.

* * *

It had been two long days since anyone last saw James or his father.

Carlos wasn't really sure what was going on. No one liked to tell him anything, but he has a sneaking suspicion that his father thought James was dead. Either that, or James' father took off with him.

Carlos refuses to believe that. He refuses to believe that he's never going to see James again, that his energetic best friend is…gone.

He has to believe in something positive, even if it is just wishful thinking. So he tells Logan, when he sees him in class that morning, that Carlos trusts his father, that they _will _find James and he's gonna be just fine, like nothing ever happened.

Only Logan doesn't believe Carlos' childish lies.

They haven't seen Kendall in days either. Ever since James disappeared, the younger boy locked himself in his room, refusing to come to school or leave his house.

He hears the teachers whisper when they think he can't hear them. _"Poor boys," _he listens to them gossip, _"just lost their friend." _

But James isn't lost, he wants to tell them. He's _fine_, he's just waiting for them to find him.

By the second day, though, even Carlos' faith is starting to falter when the nurse pulls him and Logan out of class. "If you need to talk," the kind old nurse with grey hair softly says, "or if you feel like you need to go home, just let me know and we'll understand. I know this is tough for you boys, you just lost a friend…"

But Carlos doesn't let her finish. He snaps, like a twig under lead weight, hands balled into fists. "He's not gone!" he screams into the silent office. "He's not…" and suddenly he's crying the tears he's been holding back since he found out James was missing. Tears he never wanted to cry because James was fine, he was…fine.

He has to come back, he just has to.

Carlos can feel the tears dripping down his cheeks as he collapses to the bench along the wall, head buried in his hands. He doesn't understand why everyone keeps telling him that James is gone.

Why won't anybody believe that James is coming back?

He just wants everyone to go away. He wants the teachers to stop staring at him with sympathy. He wants Logan to look at him with something other than pain and sadness welling in his dark brown eyes. He wants Kendall to stop shutting himself away.

And he wants to do something reckless and stupid, with James encouraging him. The taller boy will laugh excitedly before joining Carlos on his new idea. It may end up being a stupid decision, and they may end up hurt, but they'll never regret doing it.

He just wants James to be _here. _

Nobody understands Carlos like James does. He can't go on without him. So he won't. He'll keep believing, until they find him.

Warm, comforting arms wrap around his trembling frame, and if it was anybody else, but Logan, Carlos would have shoved them off. But it is Logan, and there are tears streaming down his face too.

"He's not gone, Logan," he says between hitching breaths and gut wrenching sobs. "He can't be."

"I know, Carlos," Logan reassures, but Carlos can see the loss in the eyes. He can see that Logan doesn't believe his own words.

He's tired of arguing, tired of being the only one that thinks James isn't _gone_. So he lets Logan comfort him with false reassurances and he lets the other boy's tears soak through his shirt.

Carlos just feels numb at this point. He can't cry anymore, he can't feel, and he can't believe that Logan has given up already.

They're both excused from school early.

Logan doesn't want to be alone, though, and neither does Carlos, so they both head to Carlos' place.

After a few restless and uneasy moments alone together, they easily decide that Kendall shouldn't be alone either, so they take off for his house. Kendall may not want their help, but they're sure as hell gonna give it anyway.

The rain is finally starting to clear as they trek the short walk to the Knight house. It had been thundering and lightning, the rain pouring in thick bands ever since James' disappeared from Kendall's house.

Carlos takes that as a sign that something good is about to happen.

* * *

They're sitting in Kendall's room in complete silence. No one wants to talk, to share the dark thoughts dwelling in their minds.

For once, Logan doesn't feel like doing his homework. He's just sitting on Kendall's bed, staring at the blue stripes, trying to understand this situation logically and fit it into his perfectly ordered world.

"_I have to face the facts. James isn't coming back," _Logan quietly told him as they were walking to Kendall's house.

Carlos did not reply to him, because he doesn't believe Logan. He doesn't…

Kendall is sitting on the floor across from his bed, back against the wall. His eyes are red rimmed and the occasional tear slips from his puffy eyes.

And Carlos, well, he's sitting on the floor, back against the bed, sharing the occasional look with Logan. He glances worriedly at Kendall, unsure of what the other boy is thinking.

Carlos isn't sure he wants to know, though.

They have not said a single to word to each other, not one thought has passed any of their lips. For once, they don't feel like doing anything at all.

Carlos wants to say something, anything to dispel the tension that hangs in the air like dust particles over a factory. But every time he opens his mouth to reassure Kendall that Carlos believes James is still alive and his father _will_ find him, he loses his courage and snaps his mouth shut.

It wouldn't help anyways.

Carlos feels eyes on his back, and he catches Logan staring at them. They share a look, but Carlos can't even begin to guess what Logan is thinking.

Carlos can't handle it anymore. This isn't Kendall or Logan. Kendall is never this upset, never this defeated, never this hopeless. And he knows Logan, he's just trying to hide how hurt and upset he is behind a curtain of logic. But it doesn't fool Carlos; he knows Logan still wants to believe that James is still out there.

Carlos suddenly angrily jumps to his feet. He can't handle all this negativity anymore. He can't be the only one to still have hope. "James _is _alive," he furiously states and glares at his two best friends in the room. "I _know _he is. He's just waiting for us to rescue him."

Carlos doesn't care how childish and naïve he sounds. He's panting after his tirade and he's so angry at his friends and himself for just giving up, for just sitting here and doing nothing, for not stopping this before things got out of hand even when they've know for a long time what's really been going on with James and his father.

They could have saved James, they could have… He falls to his knees and tries to hold back the tears in his eyes, but fails miserably. Before he knows it he's balling like a baby, and he realizes how embarrassing that is, but he doesn't care.

A soft hand is suddenly on his shoulder and he looks up into dark green eyes.

"Then lets go find him," Kendall states and Carlos' eyes light up. He nods and Kendall helps him to his feet, a silent look of understanding passing between them.

"Logan?" Kendall questions. Logan hesitantly nods. He doesn't know what Kendall is planning, but he's willing to go along with it.

Only Kendall doesn't get a chance to tell them his crazy plan.

Kendall's mother quietly knocks on the door and cautiously enters the room.

She's hesitant to say anything and that scares Carlos more than anything. "You're father just called, Carlos," she cautiously begins. _Please don't let James be dead, _he begs in his mind, _please don't let us be too late. _Kendall's breath hitches in fear and anticipation and he swears none of them are breathing.

"Mr. Diamond was in a terrible accident. He's gone boys. They just found his car because of the storm, but it seems the accident happened two days ago."

"And James?" Kendall hesitantly question.

"He wasn't in the car as far as the police can tell," she calmly responds, and there is a collective sigh of relief amongst the three boys, "but they still don't know where he is. The police are on their way to the Diamond house now to look for clues. I'm sorry, boys. I know how much you miss your friend."

Logan returns his gaze to the floor and nods tiredly. Carlos can feel the tears welling in his eyes again, but he still has hope. They hadn't found James, yet, but at least they hadn't found him dead yet either.

"Can we go to his house?" Kendall asks.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetie."

"I wanna," he starts and lets out a frustrated sigh, "I wanna be there if they find anything, even if...even if it is his body. Please," he begs and looks up at his mother, unshed tears glistening in his dark eyes.

"Okay," Mrs. Knight chokes out, but Carlos doesn't think this is such a good idea either.

She offers them a ride home, but Logan nervously shakes his head 'no' and Carlos finds, he wants to be there to. He wants to know. So he tags along.

And he thinks, maybe, this might be part of Kendall's plan.

The Diamond house is swarming with cops when they get there. Caution tape is spread across the lawn in a bright yellow warning to stay away. Paramedics are waiting outside the front door, stretcher ready, with anxious looks on their face.

A small crowd is already gathering and Carlos can see the local Channel 5 news team pulling up in their van. Carlos is pissed at that. How can they so easily exploit their pain like that? Just broadcast James' misery for the whole world to see.

It isn't fair.

"We found the boy," he faintly hears a cop say into his CB across the line. "He's alive, but he's badly injured and he's so delusional that he won't let anybody near him. See if you can't get a child psychologist down here."

Carlos' heart stops. James is alive.

James is alive!

The relief that floods through him makes him dizzy with excitement. James is alive.

He _knew_ it_._

The look on Kendall's face shows he's heard the news too, but he's not nearly as relieved as Carlos. The look on his face is one of heartache and pain and it finally settles in for Carlos.

James is injured, but how badly was the question. And where has James been these last two days? Why didn't he seek help sooner? Unless he couldn't, unless something was stopping him.

Carlos has the sudden feeling that Kendall knows something he doesn't.

"We have to go in there," Kendall says and Carlos doesn't know why they need to, but he trusts Kendall's judgement.

And, he realizes, he needs to see James. Hearing that James is alive and actually seeing it for himself are two completely different things, and he needs to see it.

"Yeah," Logan states and Carlos is momentarily surprised to hear him easily agree, "we do."

Logan nods to Kendall and Carlos isn't sure exactly what has passed between them.

"Thank you," Kendall whispers, though, and hugs Logan.

"Mama Knight, will you look at that," Logan is angrily shouting and suddenly causing a scene as he wildly and angrily points towards the News team. "I can't believe those bastards!" Logan yells and it draws Mama Knight's attention away from Kendall and Carlos.

As soon as her head is turned, Kendall takes off and Carlos follows.

Logan was a distraction, he realizes, as he sneaks past the police and into the back door.

He follows Kendall closely who seems to know where he is going. They manage to make it to the second floor of the Diamond house before they are caught.

"Where do you two boys think you are going?" a familiar voice asks and pulls both of them back by the collar of their shirt.

"Papi," Carlos guiltily mutters and looks down.

"We're just here to help," Kendall easily replies. "I can get James to come out," he begs and Carlos knows it's true.

His father sighs, his brows knitted in worry, and looks through the door Carlos and Kendall were about to go through. There is a young, blonde woman cop squatting near the closed closet door talking softly, though he can't make out her words.

His father looks distressed. A sudden pain twists in Carlos' gut and he almost doubles over from the sudden onslaught of intense agony tearing through him.

"James is in that closet, isn't he?" he suddenly gasps past the lump in his throat.

"You boys shouldn't be here," his father avoids the question. "This isn't something you should see."

Carlos knows what he needs to do. He put his helmet on, nods to Kendall and then suddenly he is dropping to the floor, limbs flailing.

"It hurts!" he screams. "Papi, help me!" he feels guilty for a split second as concern flits across his father's face before the man is kneeling next to him. The young blonde cop, confused by the commotion in the hallway, finds her way over to him as well, and drops to her knees.

Carlos hears her question what happened over the sounds of his screaming and from the corner of his eye he sees Kendall easily slip into the room.

After a view moments, his father notices the sudden absence of Kendall as well. The officer, realizing he's been duped, turns a stern eye towards his son.

"Carlos Juan Garcia, stop this instant."

Carlos immediately stops screaming and flailing, praying he gave Kendall enough time. He dashes to his feet and before his father can stop him, he ducks under the older man and rushes into the room.

The sight that greets him instantly stops him dead in his tracks, and for a second he swears even his body functions have stopped. His heart refuses to beat, his lungs refuse to take in air, and his legs refuse to take him further into the room.

Carlos feels his father walk next to him and place a comforting hand on his shoulder. Air rushes into his lungs, the gentle rhythm of his heart returns, but his legs feel like jello still.

The only thing steadying him is the hand on his shoulder.

He finally gets to see James and it breaks his heart. James is _alive_. He's not missing or _gone _or lost, he's right there, under their damn noses the entire time, but fuck it all, he's alive and that's all that matters.

James is definitely not _fine _though. The younger boy is naked from the waist up, his dirty tan skin is covered in blood and bruises. There's something not quite right with his left arm; it hangs oddly and his arm is swollen and bruised and barely looks like an arm at all.

Kendall is sitting in the dark closet, back against the wall and James is curled along his side, head resting on the blonde's shoulder and right fist tangled in the front of his shirt.

The part that kills Carlos on the inside, like a parasite eating away at the layers of his heart, is that James is sobbing hysterically, the most pathetic sobs he has ever heard any creature make.

There are tears rolling down Kendall's cheeks too, though his eyes are shut, and he is whispering softly, comforting words, over and over again to the traumatized teen sobbing in his arms.

Carlos doesn't hesitate after that. His feet bring him as quickly as he can over to the pair sitting on the floor. He settles on the other side of James, wraps his arm gently around the cold injured body of his friend and comforts the hysterical boy as best as he can.

He doesn't know when Logan shows up, but suddenly he's there too. Logan joins them in the closet and settles on the floor, hands resting lightly on James top leg.

His father approaches them cautiously, eyes wide in surprise, unsure of how, exactly, they were able to get so close to a very delusional and injured James so quickly.

Carlos loved his father dearly. The older man has been his hero since the day he was born and delivered Carlos on the kitchen floor on Christmas Eve. But he knew this was one situation his father could not help in.

He nods to Logan who moves out of the way so Carlos can kick the door shut. The other boy then leans against the door, blocking the officer from getting in.

There's not much they _can_ do for James, either. The younger boy is broken in body and spirit and Carlos doesn't even want to think about how long James was trapped in this dusty old closet, injured and alone, with nothing, but the spiders to keep him company.

It smells in here, like body odor, blood, and a few other things Carlos doesn't even want to mention, or think about. It makes his stomach churn and it is an effort to keep the bile from rising up his throat.

But this is James' hell, and probably has been for a lot longer than the last two days. Carlos is willing to brave anything for James, even a thirty foot drop into ice cold water in the middle of a Minnesota winter. (Which he promised his mother he would never do again.)

So he stays, arms gently draped around the miserable, shivering form of his best friend, as the younger boy cries for the pain he's endured and the father that never loved him.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6: Breakeven**

_"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."_

_—Rose Kennedy_

**OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo**_  
_

He knew it.

From the moment he heard James was alive, Kendall knew. Like all the other encounters with his father, this one ended with James being locked in the closet. Only this time, there was no one to let him out. This time his father had to go and die.

In Kendall's mind, with everything James told him about the abuse, there was no other possible reason to explain why James had been missing for two days even though his father was gone.

The moment his mother told him of the older man's death, even then he knew. The way his mother's fingers twitched almost imperceptibly and her reluctance to take them to Diamond house after he asked, told Kendall she knew exactly where James had been too.

It took all the willpower Kendall possessed not to start screaming at the top of his lungs at the injustice of it all. The whole time, the whole damn time, James had been right there, just a quick, short five minute drive away, waiting to be rescued, waiting to be saved.

And no one came.

Not even Kendall. He should have known, he should have…Kendall doesn't know exactly what he could have differently, but there must have been something. James was locked in a closet for two days, with no food, no water, and god knows what his father did to him before he shoved him in there, or how badly the older man hurt his son.

And Kendall had done nothing the entire time, waiting for someone else to offer the help that never came.

His heart beats rapidly and it's like a ticking time bomb, ready to explode any second in a violent flash of angry, confused emotions, his sanity burning in the intense heat of the blast. Amidst the rubble and the scattered bits of the furious explosion, one question remains untouched.

Would anything be left of James' sanity?

It had been over two days since anyone last saw him and Kendall doesn't need Logan to tell him that the chances of finding a person alive that has been missing longer than forty-eight hours were slim. He doesn't know what kind of pain was inflicted on his friend or what had been going through his head the entire time he was alone in the darkness. The darkness, it does things to people's minds, especially when they're stuck there with no means of escape.

Even the strongest of people eventually bend to the whispers in the dark.

Kendall hesitates at the thick closet door. Just two inches of solid wood separate him from his best friend.

Fear and insecurity force their way to the forefront of his mind. What would greet him on the other side of this prison door? What would he see? What would he find?

Maybe this wasn't something he could handle after all. Kendall was so sure he could save James, that he would be able to fix him, soothe the trauma, and save his oldest friend.

But now he's not so sure. What if James doesn't even recognize him? What would Kendall do then?

What if Kendall isn't what James needs after all?

He has to try, though. Even if it hurts Kendall more in the end, even if James pushes him away, even if his heart shatters into tiny, irreparable pieces on the closet floor, Kendall has to help any way he can. He can't just leave James alone in that closet any longer, not when there is something he can do to try and help.

He can't just sit back and do nothing, anymore.

"James," he quietly calls just loud enough to be heard past the commotion in the hallway. He has one hand splayed across the door, his forehead resting against the cool wood. His heart rate quickens, his palms are sweaty and his knees feel weak and shaky. Softly, he knocks on the door, low and quiet, so as not to startle the lone occupant of the walk-in closet.

"Ken-Kendall?"

The tiny voice on the other side of the door sounds weak and hoarse, but it is definitely James. A brief flutter of relief surges through him. James at least recognizes him and that is as good as any sign he is ever going to get.

"Can I, can I come in?" he patiently asks, trying to sound unthreatening and comforting because he remembers what that officer said. _He's badly injured and he's so delusional that he won't let anybody near him._

There is a long pause and Kendall fears that James is going to deny him entrance. Suddenly he hears what sounds like shuffling and dragging before the door opens a crack.

Kendall takes that as permission. "I'm coming in," Kendall commands and before James can protest, he barges into the closet leaving the door wide open.

The terrified teen is sitting on the floor hidden amidst a pile of boxes. Wild, pained eyes stare up at him, a hint of terror flickering in the depths of his wide, brown irises. His knees are drawn to his chest, one arm wrapped awkwardly around them, the other hanging uselessly by his side and his whole body is shaking. His skin is dirty, bloody, cut and bruised.

Kendall doesn't know why, but the part that shatters his heart into a million unfixable pieces is James' disheveled hair.

_That wouldn't have happened, if he had his lucky comb," _he thinks, though he realizes how ridiculous and foolish that sounds.

It wouldn't change a damn thing about any of this.

Kendall lowers himself to his knees and pushes boxes out of the way. Dark eyes follow his every movement.

Slowly, he reaches out and brushes away a stray lock of hair and tucks it behind James' ear. When the other boy does not flinch away from the hand, Kendall grows a little bolder. He repositions himself until he is sitting next to James, his back against the wall.

He locks eyes with James' old, tired ones and waits patiently for him to make the next move.

It hurts, it hurts more than Kendall thought it would. James is afraid of him; he can see it in his eyes and in the tension in his muscles, ready to flee if need be. Kendall never thought he'd see the day where his best friend was terrified of him. He knows it isn't his fault, and it's not James' fault either, but it still stings and an uneasy feeling settles in his stomach. There are tears falling from his eyes and he doesn't care anymore, he lets them fall, unashamed.

Because how is any of this fair? How does James deserve any of this?

James hesitates, his dark eyes cautiously seeking something from Kendall. He must have found it, for in the next instant, the taller boy launches himself into Kendall's arms, a heart wrenching sob tearing past his lips.

"I'm sorry," the traumatized teen gasps between sobs, "I'm so sorry."

"Shh, it's okay," Kendall tries to reassure, but James only gets more agitated.

"I just, I just wanted to help and I didn't want you to get hurt. And Logan, and Carlos, and there were…and I…I don't wanna die, Kendall."

"You're not gonna die, James. You're gonna be just fine, okay? You're gonna be fine," his voice breaks. He lets an arm slip around slim shoulders.

"I…I don't…" the other boy begins, but the words break off into sobs.

Kendall whispers comforting words over and over again to James that he's going to be just fine, and he's always going to be there for him, he's going to help James through this.

The other boy fists his hand in his shirt and though he stops rambling, the devastating sobs continue, choking the air in heartbreak and a pain so deep nothing can soothe it, nothing can ever take it away.

He let's his eyes slip shut and he cries for James, he cries for himself, and he cries for the bitter hatred in their burning world that forced them into this situation.

He doesn't realize it when Carlos and Logan join them, doesn't feel their presence at all. For the moment, for a long passing second, it is just Kendall and James and their heartbreak spilling across the floor like cascading waves of water in a flood.

He holds the other boy close and lets his best friends' tears soak through his shirt, his own tears falling into the messy brown hair beneath him. He holds trembling shoulders close to him, lets the taller boy's heat soak through him, soothing his fear of death. And together, for a brief flicker of time, everything almost feels like it will one day be alright.

Only long after his tears dry, and long after he realizes Logan's hand is on his knee and Carlos' fingers are barely grazing his shoulder, and long after James finally stops sobbing the most heart wrenching sobs anyone could ever make, does Kendall finally realize how empty and hopeless he really is. That it's not all right and the chances of it every being are very, very slim.

Long after they finally escape from the darkness, Kendall leaves the pieces of his heart lying on the cold closet floor with the rest of James' innocence.

* * *

Ever have one of those moments where your heart breaks? And you feel as if nothing will ever be the same again, nothing will ever be all right. The future is bleak, and sometimes, in the darkest of moments, you feel as if it would be better just not to go on, just to stay in the moment, and never let time continue. Stop the clock before your world burns before your eyes and everything disappears in a violent flash of light and a loud…boom.

That's kind of how Logan feels right now.

Watching James break down is the hardest thing Logan has ever had to watch. And, he thinks, it just might be the most painful experience of his life.

They have to get James to the hospital. There are no if, ands, or buts, about it and there is no avoiding it.

James' left arm is a complete mess and Logan knows there is large chance it'll never be the same again, that James may never regain full use of it. He may never be able to play hockey again, either. His skin is pale and sickly and unnaturally warm, despite the intense shivering, and a few of the deep lashes littered across his back are infected.

The younger boy has gone two days without water. Another day and he would've…died. There is no way he isn't suffering from dehydration and malnutrition and the only way to solve either is with an IV.

And unless Carlos is carrying one in his helmet, then they need to get James to a hospital, fast.

He was already crashing as it was.

But James was so delusional from a combination of pain, thirst, fever, and a lack of sleep that he wasn't nearly coherent enough to understand what was happening. He didn't understand that the EMTs were only there to help.

The minute they opened the door, the fluorescent light filtering in, worried faces hovering around them, smothering them, James freaked out.

And it was terrifying and heartbreaking to watch.

"James," he calmly says and reaches a hand towards the injured teen, trying to reassure him, trying to calm him down. But it doesn't work. James cringes away from him, and clutches his hand tighter around the fabric of Kendall's shirt. Kendall subconsciously tightens his grip around the younger boy.

"Don't," James pitifully whimpers, his cracked bottom lip quivering, but Logan doesn't know who James is talking to, Logan or his own demented delusions.

Nevertheless, Logan quickly snatches his hand back and tries not to let it show how hurt he is that James is terrified of him.

He can't blame the younger boy for it. He's not even sure if James really even knows that they're there or not.

But if James won't even let Logan touch him, the paramedics have no chance in hell.

"Shh, James, it's okay," he hears Kendall whisper to the distraught teen. "No one is going to hurt you, okay? No one is going to hurt you ever again."

"But, but the eyes," James gasps and points to a dark corner of the closet. Logan follows the direction of his finger, but there is nothing there.

He doesn't know what James sees, but it's obvious he is hallucinating.

_There are no eyes, _he opens his mouth to say, but Kendall cuts him off.

"They can't hurt you while we are here, remember, James?" the other boy soothes the distraught teen.

_Kendall is playing into his delusions,_ Logan realizes, but he's not sure he agrees for it could either be a brilliant idea, or it could end up blowing up in his face, leaving behind not just one, but two broken, shattered minds in the process. He can tell, just by a quick glance into Kendall's pained face, how much it hurts him to play into James' sick and twisted hallucinations. But at this point, it's better than doing nothing.

"You need to go to the hospital," Carlos tries to reason. "They'll make you feel better."

But James could not be reasoned with. Surviving was the easy part, he realizes. It was moving on that may never happen. There was only so much torture and pain one could take before they broke in mind and spirit, before their sanity splintered under the heavy weight of their tormentor.

And James is so far beyond that point, so far from the line between sane and delusional, that it has disappeared completely from his horizon.

He's hoping it's just the dehydration and the fever that is causing James' current state of mind, but he can't be certain.

Because being abused and held captive, it doesn't just change people, it twists things in your mind, blurs the edges of imaginary and reality, until it's almost impossible to tell the difference between the two.

And you couldn't just snap your fingers and expect everything to go back to the way things were.

Instead they were left with the broken pieces of a shattered mind for god knows how long, patiently waiting for a solution that would never come.

"I can't go. I can't go!" James responds, his panic rising, hot breathes coming out in quick gasps. "They won't let me leave!" the terrified teen cries out.

"I won't let them hurt you, James," Kendall tries to console the distraught teen, but James only grows more flustered and troubled.

"No," James whispers and buries his head in Kendall's shoulder, shaking his head repeatedly. "I want to see her again. She was just her. Where is she?"

"I…I don't know," Kendall reluctantly tells him, the pain in his voice thick and heavy, forcing a cold dread in Logan's heart. Kendall doesn't know who James is talking about.

A terrible, horrible idea suddenly springs to Logan's mind. As crazy as it sounds, he's fairly certain he knows who 'she' is.

If you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

He's doesn't like what he is about to do. He will probably hate himself for the rest of his life, and he wouldn't be surprised at all if James did to. He's manipulating his best friend, after all, twisting the situation to his advantage. Even if it is, in the end, to save James, it doesn't feel right at all.

But at the moment, he figures, it is the only option they have left to get James to the hospital without having to restrain and sedate the traumatized victim, which Logan refuses to let happen. It's a long shot, but it's their only one, and James needs to go now.

"If…if you let these nice men take you to the hospital, then you can see her again. You can see your mother again."

He hates it even as he says it, and the words leave a bitter taste in his mouth, but the words have the desired affect.

Carlos looks lost and confused, and Kendall's eyes widen in surprise. He can't tell if Kendall is pissed at him for trying this, or just as confused as Carlos.

But James, James finally looks at him. There is nothing in his eyes. There is no recognition, no sparkle, no hint of life, but there is a tiny hint of hope glinting past the haze in his glazed eyes. It kills Logan knowing he's about to kill that spark of hope, to smother the only thing in James' dull eyes. "Promise?" James' hoarse, broken voice questions.

"Y-yeah, I promise," and Logan can hear his heart shattering, cracking into pieces and falling to the floor.

It physically aches, his empty chest twinges in pain. But Logan figures he deserves it for abusing James' trust in him. James only nods in response.

It's not long before the paramedics swarm into the room. They're strapping down James to a stretcher, as Kendall tries to keep the other boy calm, faster than Logan can even comprehend.

He feels like the world's biggest asshole for deceiving James, and he knows that feeling isn't going away anytime soon. No matter how many times he tries to tell himself he was doing the right thing.

He suddenly realizes the room is empty. James and Kendall are long gone, as are the paramedics and he can hear the sirens start to fade into the distance.

A comforting hand is placed on his shoulder and he turns to see Carlos, who offers him a small smile.

And that's all it takes. He falls to his knees and finally, finally cries for the first time since this all started.

Carlos tries to comfort him, but it doesn't make him feel any better.

When the tears stop, and the empty, numb feeling in his chest returns, Officer Garcia drives Carlos and him to the hospital, but in his guilt, Logan leaves the shattered pieces of his broken lying on the floor, knowing he will never be the same again.


	8. Chapter 7

Hello, Sorry for the long delay. The last week and a half has been somewhat interestingly and unexpectedly busy. There was supposed to be a third part to this chapter, but I'm having trouble finding a suitable ending for it. So I decided to just go ahead and post the first two parts because I feel bad because I haven't updated in forever. The first part has a little bit of a recap going on, but I really wanted to put all of the events in a single pov, and I wanted to get one of the adult's perspective on the situation.

So I wasn't able to watch Big Time Concert the night it aired and I haven't seen it yet, but I keep hearing all these things and **(SPOILER ALERT POSSIBLY (?) IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT EITHER, so if you don't want to know skip ahead to the chapter)** about 'New James' and the guys wanting to replace James before he returns, and I think I might have heard something about James wanting to go solo with Hawke after Griffin basically fired them for reasons I don't know, and I was wondering if it was even worth it to watch it? (And I was wondering how all of that lead to them being kidnapped by Hawke?) Anyways, I find that in television and movies, and basically every form of entertainment, writers often fail to take friendship into account for the sake of drama or a good plot line, and often times make their own characters seem OOC. Though it happens all the time it still ticks me off. So I'm really thinking I should just not watch it and pretend it never happened, but I also heard it was good. If it's not too much to ask, I'm the kind of person who likes to know the ending before I watch a movie, so I was wondering if anyone would be willing to give me a detailed synopsis of what happens in a PM or email or something?

Before the episode aired, I planned on writing this really cute, fluffy and humorous Kendall/James romance story with no angst at all, but now I'm thinking another angsty story where something horrible happens to James after the events of Big Time Concert, but he doesn't tell anyone because he doesn't think they'll care and he has good reasons to believe they won't. What would you guys and gals rather see?

As always, I have talked/wrote way too much. When I'm really tired, for some reason, I always think it's a great idea to just keep talking/writing. But yeah, shutting up now!:)

* * *

**Chapter Seven: Shattered Glass and Broken Dreams **

The foul stench of death lingered in the stale air. The twisted remains of a little red mustang lay on the bottom of a cliff, crumpled as easily as a wad of paper and crushed beyond repair. The dead, rotting corpse of David Diamond was slumped stiffly over the steering wheel.

Officer Garcia stood amongst the shattered glass, uncertainly, crowbar in hand, staring at the broken remains of the trunk.

For two days this distorted heap of metal sat here unnoticed, invisible behind the intense fall thunderstorms and the thick blanket of rain that covered their town.

For two days, Juan Garcia followed nonexistent clues trying to find an abused teen who just…disappeared, vanished off the face of the Earth without a trace.

His best guess was that David took off with him, since no one had seen father or son since the night James snuck out of the Knight house. If that was the case, the chances of finding James were…well, there were no chances. Simply put, in the absence of a miracle, they would never find James alive.

He couldn't tell Carlos that, couldn't tell his youngest son that he was never going to see his best friend again, crushing his little boy's spirit.

So the seasoned officer kept trying his hardest to rescue that poor boy, kept pressing for clues.

He couldn't follow a trail that wasn't there, though.

James was gone.

Or so he thought until Diamond's sports car was found. When he finally saw David's car, it was the first time Juan had to admit that maybe the other officers were right, maybe James was dead. His father most likely killed him, intentionally or not.

But the car was empty save for the body of the older Diamond, and there was no trace of the teen ever having been in the car. The only place left to check was the crushed trunk.

Hesitantly, he pried open the trunk only to find the compartment vacant, save for one old, wrinkled blanket and a half empty bottle of Southern Comfort. Garcia was instantly relieved.

But that relief was fleeting. They still had no idea where James was. He couldn't go home and tell his son where his missing best friend, couldn't provide the closure everyone needed.

He couldn't be a hero if there was no hope.

Officer Garcia made a quick call to Challen, before he immediately took off for the Diamond house. They could finally search the premises now that David was deceased and his damn lawyer couldn't do anything about it.

Now that he wasn't being paid, Juan didn't think the attorney really cared anymore about Mr. Diamond or his property.

The bright crime scene tape was already being plastered around the yard when he pulled up in his cop car.

They found blood in the master bedroom. It wasn't a lot, but it was enough to make them suspicious, enough to make it a crime scene.

At first it was just a nagging, poisonous thought, but now the idea was becoming firmly cemented in his mind.

James was dead.

Or so he thought as he joined two of his fellow officers, Officer Larry Guit and Officer Juliet Brennan, in the master bedroom.

Larry, like Juan, had been around long enough to have seen plenty of terrible, miserable, disgusting and heartbreaking crimes in his life. And while it always hurt to have a new victim, especially when a child was concerned, in the course of their duty, they had both learned to accept what they could not change.

But Brennan, Guit's young partner was still new. She was green in the face, sick with the knowledge of what had happened in this room, of what some men were capable of.

Garcia didn't want to think the boy could be gone, didn't want to tell his son and their friends and family that, no, James wasn't coming back. He didn't want to admit it to himself either.

He'd known the boy for years, and still somehow he'd let this happen. He was a police officer, he was supposed to protect people, not watch them die before his eyes.

He caught Larry's eyes, and the other officer just shook his head softly. They hadn't found the teen yet, but that didn't mean he wasn't here.

Juan hadn't even realized Juliet had walked away from them before he heard the young officer's voice calling out.

"I think I found something," her soft, pained voice called out. She was hovering next to the closet door, inspecting several smudges of blood. "I read the report," she quietly continued. "He said his father used to lock him in the closet…" she trailed off, staring scared and terrified at the wooden barrier.

She'd broken one of the most important rules of being a cop: never get too close to the victim. Garcia couldn't really blame her, though. When it came to James, he'd broken that rule before this case even started. He liked James, he was a great friend to Carlos and a good person and James did not deserve all of the pain his father tossed on his shoulders.

"Wait," Juliet's soft voice suddenly sounded excited. "I think I hear something."

Garcia immediately rushed to the closet door. He pressed his ear against the wooden barrier and sure enough he heard it too.

It was whimpering, barely audible, but definitely there and definitely human.

James was…alive?

Slowly, they pushed the door open. The light barely filtered in, catching upon a pair of bare feet.

"James," the young officer calmly called out, but there was no response.

They opened the door a little wider and Larry turned his flashlight on. The miserable, shivering form of James was illuminated. Wide, brown eyes stared unseeingly into the darkness.

He had no idea they were even there. But he was _alive_.

"James," Juliet called out softly and reached a tiny hand to the boy.

The effect was immediate. A burst of adrenaline surged through the boy and he violently cringed away from the hand.

"Don't," he cried out as he waveringly sat up and backed away from her. "Go away," he cried in panicked.

"James, do you remember me?" Officer Garcia tried. The young boy followed his voice and stared him dead in the eyes, but there was no spark of recognition.

"We're just here to help, sweetie. We're not going to hurt you," she held out her hand patiently, waiting for James to make the first move, but the teen did not trust her. He crawled away from her, further into the closest, hiding behind tall dusty boxes.

"Don't," he said. "Go away, go away, go away," he whispered over and over again, his voice hoarse and growing more agitated with each word. "You're not real."

"James," she tried again, but Larry put a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Stop," the old officer finally said. "Shut the door, it's only making him worse. There's nothing we can do. I'm gonna go radio for help, see if we can't get a child psychologist down here to help."

Larry was right. They did their job, they found the boy. There was nothing more they could do without hurting the teen further.

That boy was terrified and he was never going to let Garcia, or anyone else for that matter, help him.

Juan wanted to feel relief and joy. James was alive and he could finally go home and give his son some good news.

But was it really good news?

Finding a missing victim alive was the best and worst part of his job. Being alive meant there was one less person sacrificed to the underworld out of cruelty, spite and bitter conflicts. But there was one more person walking the earth, so traumatized they were damaged emotionally and physically, sometimes beyond repair.

Could he really tell everyone how damaged their friend was?

Turns out he didn't have to.

He was very upset with Carlos and his friends, but he couldn't stay mad because it worked. Within minutes of their arrival the terrified, panicking teen was strapped down and in an ambulance not a minute too soon, but two days too late.

* * *

The chilly night air was like a slap across the face as they finally emerged from the large suburban home. Flashing red lights danced across the gathering crowd briefly illuminating curious faces.

Kendall stared at them with cold hatred. They didn't know James. They had no right to be here, to exploit his pain for their entertainment.

To them, James was just another story that by morning would be plastered all over the local news channel. But they would never have to deal with the pain, they would never have to deal with the aftermath, and in the months to come the nameless crowd would forget he even existed.

They weren't his best friend, they didn't know…

James squeezed his hand tightly and Kendall tore his angry glare away from the crowd and the heartless cameras to softly gaze at his injured friend. Quick, panicked breathes escaped past swollen, cracked lips and red rimmed eyes stared fearfully at the flashing lights and curious onlookers.

Kendall stepped closer, shielding the wandering gaze from flashing lights and eyes eager for a glance as the paramedics wheeled the teen towards the awaiting ambulance.

James closed his eyes and looked away, his hand clutching desperately at Kendall's, but the terror never left his face.

The stretcher rolled to a stop next to wide open ambulance doors. Kendall jumped in surprise when a warm hand from one of the paramedics landed on his shoulder.

"You can't come with us, son," the young man with kind blue eyes told him. He wanted to protest. If he thought it would have worked, Kendall would have thrown a huge temper tantrum right in front of the cameras just to be able to go with them, but he knew it was hopeless.

He gently touched a hand to the other teen's face and James' eyes snapped open, gaze flickering wildly before settling on Kendall.

"I have to leave you now, James," Kendall tried to explain, "but I'll be waiting for you at the hospital."

He tried to extricate his hand from James' grip, but the teen held on tightly. "No," wide brown eyes begged, "please don't leave me."

"I can't go with you," Kendall chocked out trying not to breakdown again at the heartbreak in his friends eyes. "But the paramedics are going to take good care of you, okay?"

"No," James whispered and started struggling against straps holding him down. "Don't go, please don't go. I'm sorry!" the distraught boy nearly sobbed

"It's okay, James, it's okay," he tried to calm him down, but the other boy began struggling against the straps harder, fighting to get free. "James," Kendall began, but the paramedic cut him off.

"Don't worry, he's not going anywhere," the young man told James and began loading him into the ambulance, Kendall having no choice but to follow because of the tight grip on his hand. "We don't have time to waste," he heard the man say to other paramedic who nodded and slid into the passenger seat.

As the doors to the ambulance shut, he saw his mother finally break free from the crowd, but he didn't have time to register the emotions splaying across her face before the sirens started and the ambulance sped towards their destination.

James stopped struggling against the restraints, but he didn't calm down at all.

"I'm sorry, Kendall, please don't go," James whined as he stared unseeingly at the ceiling.

"I'm right here," he told him, and gently turned his friend's head until James was looking at him.

"I'm sorry," James said again when he finally looked at Kendall, a brief flicker of recognition flashing through his eyes.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," Kendall reassured, letting his thumb gently stroke down the pale skin of the James' cheek.

"But, but I left, and I didn't tell you," the teen insisted. "I just wanted to help. I didn't want him to hurt you guys too."

"Is that what this is about?" Kendall asked incredulously. At this point he would've thought that those past events were irrelevant.

But it was obvious James had been thinking about it, and it clearly stilled bothered him.

No wonder he didn't want Kendall to leave, he probably thought Kendall wouldn't come back.

James nodded meekly and tried to turn his head away, but Kendall wouldn't let him.

"I'm not mad," he said and tried to let his sincerity show through his face. "No one is mad at you, okay? Logan, Carlos, Mama Knight and I love you. Even Katie does, and we're not going to let you go through this alone. We're not leaving, _I'm_ not leaving, ever. You're stuck with me."

"But—"

"No buts, James," Kendall sternly replied in his best impression of his mother, which wasn't very good at all. "This is not your fault and no one blames you." He brushed a stray lock of brown hair off James forehead and leaned in close to whisper, "I'll always be there for you, no matter what. Okay?"

"Okay," James nodded and the barest hint of a smile shined in his bright eyes.

The sirens blared above them, lights sped past so quickly they were nothing, but a blur. He held his best friend's hand tightly with his own, and for the first time in days, Kendall had hope. For the first time in days, he really believed that one day, everything was going to work out, everything was going to be fine. There would be scars, but they _could _move on that was the most important thing.

"She's not there, is she?" James suddenly and quietly asked as he returned his gaze to Kendall. There was a hint of lucidity in his brown eyes that hadn't been there before.

Kendall instantly knew who James was talking about. "No," he sadly answered, hating to crush his hope, but refusing to lie to him further.

"I just," James began, but quickly trailed off and shook his head softly to himself. "Don't let Logan feel too bad about it, okay?"

"Okay," Kendall easily replied. The delusions were starting to fade, and what was left of his sanity was slowly returning with his escape from his little closet prison.

The hospital loomed before them, the ambulance lurched to a stop before the doors.

"You're gonna be just fine," Kendall reassured James as they were finally forced to release their tight grip on one another. "I'll be right there as soon as I can," he promised.

This time James let him go as they Doctor's swarmed around him.

"Fourteen year old male," he heard the paramedics say as James was wheeled beyond the double doors, leaving Kendall behind, "held captive for two days. Blood pressures is," the words trailed off as they disappeared behind the doors.

Kendall collapsed into a chair, face buried into his hands, his relief wrestling with his sorrow. He barely even noticed when his mother sat down next to him, and wrapped her arm around his shoulder.

Her presence comforted him. They both knew they had a long fight ahead of them, but the battle had not been lost.

And that was enough to comfort them both.


	9. Chapter 8

Hello,

Sorry for the super long delay. Between moving to a new city and starting grad school, I have been so busy. I wanted to get this done before starting my program, but yeah, that didn't happen. Now that I have settled into a routine and into my new environment, though, I'm hoping to get back into writing and updating this more often. This story is now my first priority.

I just want to thank everyone for sticking with me this far. Don't worry, I intend on finishing this story, because I've already started the sequel and I'm very excited about it. I want to give a special thanks to bballgirl22 and Magiccatprinces for giving me a synopsis of Big Time Concert. I eventually did watch it, and the boys were adorable as always. If you've sent me a message on fanfiction or a message or comment on livejournal, and I didn't get back to you, I just want to say sorry right now, because I've just been so busy and I'm kind of forgetful to begin with, that it's kind of slipped my mind. I really appreciate it when someone takes the time to review or send me a message, so I'd like to say thank you to everyone even if it isn't a personalized message.

Honestly, I really had fight with myself to get this chapter written, whereas in the other chapters, the words usually just to came to me. I struggled through the whole thing and I definitely forced this one out, rather than working with it, much like tortured fabric if any of you out there watch Project Runway and can appreciate the reference. I just got this idea stuck in my head, and then I couldn't move past it and it became a major brain block, and now it's a hot mess.

I know I say this like every chapter, but I mean it this time when I say there's only going to probably be two more chapters after this. The last one is almost done, it's just a matter of getting to that point. I will attempt to update by 10/16/10, but if not check my profile page and I'll try to update that on my progress.

As always, my introduction is long-winded and unnecessary. But please, enjoy.

And for all you Baseball fans out there, Happy Postseason!

**

* * *

Chapter 8: Derailed  
**

The waiting room never felt this silent before.

There was the hustle and bustle of doctors and nurses, coughing, sneezing, shuffling by patients, the quiet hum of a vending machine, soft chatter, hushed crying, but it all seemed so far away.

But the silence, the silence was absolute, unnerving, like a thief it hid in every nook and cranny and stole the words right from their mouth.

Not that they really had anything to say to each other.

Carlos was curled up into a tight ball, lying across several of the tacky seats, his head resting on his father's lap. The shorter boy cried himself to sleep in the arms of his father.

Kendall sat bent over in a chair, face buried in his hands. He hadn't moved since or spoken to anyone since they got there. Mrs. Knight's hand rested lightly on his shoulder, rubbing comforting circles across tense muscles, but the younger boy did not move.

In a room full of people, Logan was alone, alone with the silence. His father was out of the country on business and was trying desperately to return to the states. His mother was one of the nurses here, and was currently with James who was in surgery to fix his damaged arm and shoulder.

She wanted to stay with Logan, to comfort her only son. He begged her to go into surgery with James instead. The younger boy needed her more than he did, and Logan trusted his mother with James' life.

He needed time alone to think anyways. So many things had happened that night and it was hard to sort out all of his feelings.

James' father was dead, the bastard was _dead _and that made Logan angry. James wouldn't have been locked in a closet for two days if the older man hadn't gone and killed himself while drunk driving. But he also felt…relieved. It felt wrong being happy over another's death, but no one deserved to rot in Hell more than David Diamond and so he did not dwell on his relief.

The police informed Mrs. Knight not long after their arrival to the hospital, that if she was still willing, she was officially James' legal guardian for good. James didn't have any other family, except an Aunt and Uncle, whom James had never met. They lived in Alaska and hated kids. His only other living relative was a grandmother with severe dementia. All Mrs. Knight had to do was sign the papers.

Mrs. Knight immediately agreed, because as she so eloquently put it, _I'm not going to let that child go into foster care after everything he's just been through, and how dare you even suggest otherwise. _

It was a bittersweet victory. It was James' first loving home since his mother died, but it was five years too late. A little bit of love couldn't erase years of abuse and neglect.

James was _alive, _and that, more than anything, Logan tried to dwell on. According to the doctors, with due time, James was going to recover just fine physically. Before they wheeled James into surgery, the Doctor suggested they all go home.

There was nothing more they could do until morning.

Logan looked up briefly, just long enough to catch everyone's eyes. The same stubbornness and resolution was written across all of their faces. Without uttering a single word, they all agreed they were not leaving. They were all going to wait in the horribly uncomfortable waiting room until they got to see James again, until they were able to replace the image of the broken teen, lying terrified and abused on the closet floor, with something less heart shattering, with, well… hope.

They were going to be there for James.

That was almost four hours ago. In the 3 hours and 55 minutes since then, Kendall hadn't moved once, Carlos finally woke, only to lean against his father and stare unseeingly at the white wall across from him, his exuberance and carefree attitude deflated like an old wilted balloon. The officer's arm was wrapped around his son, something, some emotion, some thought, was rapidly flicking past his eyes, but Logan couldn't quite catch exactly what it was. Mrs. Knight's eyes were torn between concern and worry, for both of her sons now, as she fidgeted nervously.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her place a light kiss on Kendall's temple.

"I'm gonna go get coffee for everyone," she announced and no one protested as she took off. It was the first words anyone had spoken in a long time.

It was 3 hours, 57 minutes and 45 seconds since they'd had any news on James, 3 hours, 57 minutes and 50 seconds in which he had to think about what happened.

It played in his mind over and over again, time after time, the same twisted scene on the closet floor. And yet every time the words left his mouth, every time he told James he could see his mother again, every time he lied to his best friend, he still flinched, he still felt the same guilt.

"I lied to him," he thought in disbelief, and it's only when Kendall finally looks up does Logan realize he's said those words out loud.

Kendall motions him over, and reluctantly he gets up and sits next to him. He doesn't want to be comforted, though, doesn't want to be told that he did nothing wrong, because it wasn't true.

"Yeah, you did," Kendall tells him and he flinches when he hears the truth from another's lips. "But we would still be in that house if you hadn't," Kendall finishes, ignoring his flinch.

"It's been six hours and twenty seven minutes, logically speaking in that time I think we could have come up with an alternative method for getting James to the hospital," Logan shook his head stubbornly. He wasn't going to let this go. What he did was morally wrong and it doesn't matter that it worked or that it was effective. It was still a horrible thing to do.

"Yeah, but how long would that have taken?" Carlos questions. Logan just shrugs, he doesn't know.

"I'm not going to lie to you and say you did the right thing," Kendall bluntly tells him, "because honestly I don't know if you did or not. It's not my place to judge.

"But I do know that James doesn't blame you. I know because he told me, and no one else thinks anything less of you except for yourself. You're not going to like what I have to say, but, it's just one of those things where you have to move on. You have to let it go, or it will drive you crazy."

Logan looks down and leans into Kendall as the blonde wraps an arm around his shoulder. Carlos uncurled from his father's protective embrace and stumbled over next to Logan.

"I believe you did the right thing, Logan. I believe you did what needed to be done and there is nothing to feel bad for," Carlos tells him with his innocent eyes and naïve smile.

"I can't tell you what to feel, no one can. But trust me when I say, I know how you feel right now. Nothing's going to be the same," Kendall says with tears in his eyes and a crack in his voice that threatens to break his fragile hold on his emotions. "But we have to move on, we have pick up the pieces no matter how broken they are, and we have to believe it'll be okay."

"And we'll do it together," Carlos adds and latches himself onto Logan. "It's the only way we'll get through this. It's the only way James will get through this."

A small tired smile graces Kendall's lips at Carlos' words. "Yeah, together," Kendall echoes. Logan likes the sound of that too.

Hearts simply did not shatter. And they didn't just die without a reason. They are living organ that steadily thrums with life. Emotional wounds could not break a heart, they could not tear it, shatter it, throw it against a wall, they could do _nothing_. And unless one was having a heart attack, hearts definitely could not hurt, or be in pain.

Logan knows this better than anyone else. Knows it is physically impossible for his chest to ache, to feel as if the lump of flesh is not beating, to feel as if he isn't really living at all. He knows there is no hole beneath his ribcage.

Genius though he may be, Logan cannot help what he feels. And he feels lost, he feels hopeless.

He feels…heartbroken.

But he will pick up those pieces of his fragile flesh. He will put them back together with shaking hands and the strongest glue he can find, glue made from the love of his friends and family.

Piece by piece, _together_, they will do the same for James.

* * *

It was the first day of kindergarden for Kendall Knight, when Challen first met a five year old James David Diamond. The little boy with his bright, innocent smile, and wide eager eyes was literally dragged by an excited Kendall into her small house, her son eager to show off his '_new best friend for life'_ to his mother.

Even at five years old, his hair was perfectly styled, and his clothes were expensive and fashionable. There was an innocence about him that all children posses, but then again, even then it seemed somehow…tainted. That little boy with his helpless eyes had been shy and scared of her at first, but over the years he'd slowly opened up.

There had always been something in his eyes, something dark and sinister and twisted, some unknown pain and horror. Never had she questioned, never had she given it a second thought, and that subconscious decision haunted her now.

She didn't know that nine years later that same little boy with large eyes would still be her son's best friends. She didn't know she would come to care for the child so much, or that the innocent smile on his tan lips would capture her heart.

Little did she know that nine years later, James _would _be her son. Emotionally, and now legally, she was James' guardian.

It had been Challen's arms he cried in the night his mother died. It had been Challen who gave James his first sex talk. Challen was there when no one else was.

It was just a stack of papers legally binding her to guardianship over the teenager, but signing them had been one of the single greatest moments of her life.

Challen Knight did not know if she was up to the challenge of fixing a broken, traumatized teenager. Already she had failed so miserably at being a good parent to James.

It was one of those moments that she wished Karl was still here to help here, that her husband hadn't been taken away from them so soon. Karl would have known what to do. Karl never would have let things get this far to begin with.

Challen missed her husband so much it hurt. The familiar pang of loneliness flared white hot and angry in her chest. She quickly paid the cashier for her coffee and fled the small café before her tears could threaten to overwhelm her.

There were so many things Challen regretted in her life. Never being there for James, was one of them. Leaving Katie at her dear neighbor Mrs. Stenson for a second time in a week, letting Kendall deal with this situation alone, were but a few things on her list. But marrying Karl Knight was one thing Challen could never regret, nor her children.

When she finally returned to the hospital, she couldn't help but smile. Officer Garcia was sitting straight up, but he was fast asleep as were her three boys. Logan was curled up into Kendall's side and her son's head was resting on Logan's. Carlos was practically lying on top of the raven haired teen.

There was a peacefulness settled over them in their slumber, innocence and shining vulnerability that was not present during the day. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind Kendall's ear, and kissed his forehead before settling down to again wait through the long night in the cold unforgiving plastic chair in a place she never wanted to be in again.

* * *

"Challen," a soft voice whispered as a gentle hand shook her shoulder.

She groaned sleepily before forcing her heavy eyelids to open. Her dark gaze settled on a petite blonde woman with grim countenance.

"Marissa? Did something happen to James?" she quickly sat up, suddenly alert, her senses tingling with panic as she devoted her complete attention to the nurse.

At the request of her son, Marissa Mitchel had gone into surgery with James many hours ago. At this point, Challen didn't even know how long it had been.

"He's going to be…fine," she said after long hesitant moment, carefully picking her words. "Why we don't we go for a walk and discuss it."

Challen had known Marissa for six long years, for as long as she had known Logan. The older woman was small in stature, but all five feet of her were chalked full of attitude and determination, so unlike her shy son. She was not shy about her opinions and never sugar coated the truth with her bluntness. Underneath the icy exterior and no bullshit tolerance, though, was one of the sweetest, kindest woman Challen had ever met. Over the years the seasoned RPN had become a close friend and a personal confident.

She knew her friend well and if Marissa was trying to pull her away from the boys, she knew the news could not be good.

"How bad is it?" Challen went straight to the point as soon as they were out of earshot of their young sons.

"I wasn't lying when I said James was going to be fine," Marissa began, circumventing the issue. "His condition has been stabilized and he pulled through the surgery as well as can be expected. He's going to need physically therapy for his arm, but it's too soon to tell whether or not he's going to regain full use of it."

Challen nodded thoughtfully. Those were all things she expected and did not warrant a private audience. But if that was the good news, she dreaded whatever the bad news may be.

"The damage done to his body was extensive," Marissa continued and stared down the hallway at the white walls and broken dreams. "James is severely underweight and the doctors are worried about the chronic lack of nutrition and that it many hinder his recovery. He's going to be placed on a strict diet."

Marissa turns back to face her and Challen is surprised at the depth of emotion playing in her face. Working in the ER, Marissa dealt with cases like these on a fairly consistent basis, but her hard shell was starting to visibly crack, her tough exterior melting. Marissa was a _nurse _and she never quite noticed the extent of the abuse that James endured on a daily basis. If her own guilt was anything to go by, then Challen felt sympathy for the small woman with a big heart.

"When are you going to tell me why you really pulled me aside, Marissa?" she softly asked, placing her hand lightly on the petite woman's forearm.

"The Doctors are…I am worried about his mental health. When he wakes up I'm worried that he may not be mentally, or emotionally, stable."

"You think he might try to kill himself?" Challen incredulously scoffed. James was the most tenacious little boy she had ever met, never giving up to the point where it was almost a fault. It was a trait she thought James picked up from Kendall, but turned out it was the other way around.

That little boy, the child she met on a sunny fall day nine years ago, would never dare to give up. But that little boy hadn't nearly been beaten to death by his father. That little boy hadn't been locked in a closest, like a dirty rag, only to be forgotten, to be left behind.

That little boy with his big brown eyes and his bright cheerful smile was still innocent.

"I honestly don't know. We will definitely be monitoring him for signs of depression, but that wasn't what I am most worried about. There is a large chance James will be suffering from Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome. It kills me to say this, Challen," Marissa turns to face her fully, calculating green eyes settling on her face, "but there is a chance James will be clinically insane. He may have to be institutionalized."

She let her hand drop to her side, a curt nod her only response to the words thrown heavily at her. The thought had crossed her mind. She wasn't naïve enough to believe the teen would wake up and be just peachy keen, but Challen was just optimistic enough to set the idea aside and hope for the best.

Maybe that was foolish of her, maybe she should have prepared for the worst. Challen just wanted to believe that things had to get better. Wishful thinking saved her sanity before, and if that was what it was going to take to get her and her children through to the next day, then it was worth it to face the disappointment then.

"One step at a time," she sighed softly under her breath. When money got tight, when problems seemed endless, when a solution was no where to be found, Karl would gather her in his arms and whisper _one step at a time. _Step by step, they would always find their way. Step by step, they crossed every hurdle, but one.

Challen had lost faith for a long time after Karl died, she'd lost her way, given up on some of the most important things in life, some of the things Karl taught her.

She had not uttered that phrase since the day her husband passed away, but it was time to move on, time to move forward, one step at a time. _It will be these little baby steps, _she thinks, _that'll pull us through in the end. _

She purses her lips. Marissa was her friend, but she didn't need the lecture, didn't need the reminder. James was her responsibility now no matter what. She would not let that child give up, she will not see that child waste away any more than he already has beneath her watchful gaze.

"Can I see him?" her words are short and clipped.

Marissa's pale brown eyes soften. "Of course," she sighs tiredly, but not defeated. "He's just down the hallway on the second floor. I'll take you to him."

She nods because she doesn't trust her voice anymore. With one last look towards her sleeping child, silently Challen follows behind the fiercely protective nurse.

They stop briefly before entering James' room. This time it is Marissa who places a comforting hand on her forearm. "I believe it'll all work out," she half smiles through the tears lingering in her eyes.

Challen returns the watery smile with one of her own, before tightly hugging Marissa.

"I know it will" are her parting words, before she gathers her floundering courage, and pushes the door open with shaking hands.

The steady beeping of the heart monitor assures her James is still alive. His skin is pale and sickly looking, fever staining his drawn cheeks. Various tubes and wires stick out from the pile of blankets stacked on the bed to keep the tiny figure warm.

There is a part of him that will never be a child again, a part of him that has seen too much, endured too much. But in his sleep, vulnerable and alone, there is still an innocence clinging desperately to the teen. As she learns over and places a light kiss to his forehead, she vows she will save that innocence.

Bleary eyes open momentarily, a ghost of a smile whispers across faint blue lips when brown eyes fall upon her face. It was just a brief moment, and quickly his eyes fall shut again, almost as if she had imagined the whole thing.

But it was enough to reassure her, enough to bring hope, enough to make her believe.

Tomorrow would bring pain, tomorrow would bring heartache, but tonight it was just Challen and _her _son. Broken though he may be, there were whispers of hope and promises for tomorrow lingering in the air.

Outside the sun began to rise, morning peaked lazily through the fog. Challen laid her head down on the scratchy hospital blankets and finally let herself fall fast asleep.


	10. Chapter 9

**Warning:** There is some very strong language used in the third part of this chapter. Personally I do not approve of any of those words, but I felt they were very fitting for David Diamond's character and added a little bit of depth and realism to him and the situation. If you think you might be offended, skip the flashback section (i.e. the italicized part) in the third part of this chapter.

**

* * *

**

**Chapter 9**

_The closest door loomed before him. Dark oak wood stained red with smears of blood. A foul smell tickled his nose, sneaking out beneath the small crack under the heavy door. It smelled like rotting flesh._

_It smelled like death._

_Palms sweating, heart racing, lips quivering in fear, he twisted the dull, dusty brass handle and slowly the door creaked open. _

_There was nothing there. No walls, no floor, no old dusty boxes, forgotten and abandoned with time. Nothing, but darkness that called to him, beckoned him forward. Cautiously, he stepped in for a closer look. _

_The heavy oak door slammed shut behind him. His heart froze in fear, as if icy black fingers were wrapped around it, squeezing the life out of his still beating chest. Body laden with fear, he tripped, falling painlessly, silently to his hands and knees. Paralyzed with fear, he crawled forward until his hands touched something cold and soft. He let his fingers wander across the foreign object._

_As his hand touched something sticky, his heart plummeted to his stomach, dread settled thick and heavy in his gut. He snatched his hand back to find it stained red. _

_The lights suddenly flickered on._

_There are no walls still, no floors, no dusty boxes, but there is one forgotten object, one lone figure. Illuminated by the sharp fluorescent light is the body of his best friend, cold, lifeless and unmoving. Dark bruises and crimson blood stand out in stark contrast to the pale white skin. Blank, black eyes stare unseeingly into the nothingness of the closest. _

_He jerked away from the body, terrified, horrified, agonized. A sharp pain stabbed his chest as a gasp left his lips._

_Blood covered his hands, and the still lifeless body on the cold closet floor._

_Realization finally dawns. He had come too late. _

Kendal woke with a start, body jerking as his mind was forcefully pulled back to reality. His heart is racing frantically, pounding so hard he can _feel _it rattling against his ribcage, trying to break the fragile bone.

For a brief second, his nightmare flashes through his mind. _James is dead,_ his mind is screaming at him, _you failed. _He gasps for breath as the severity of the situation settles in, as the weight of the truth hits him in the chest harder than a bullet.

The agony of loss, is so strong he can barely breathe, barely scrape together his floundering thoughts.

_His best friend is gone, _his frantic mind provides. Kendall takes a deep shuddering breath trying to diffuse his panic, to calm the tidal wave of emotions. But it doesn't work, because nothing can erase the truth, nothing can bring James back.

Nothing is okay.

The soft sound of snoring pulls him away from his troubled thoughts, from the dark abyss his mind had been wandering towards. His eyes finally settle on a messy mop of raven hair resting on his chest, and a pale arm wrapped around his waist.

His relief hits him almost as hard as the regret, as the fear that James was…gone. They're in a hospital. _James is alive,_ he tries to calm his unsettled thoughts, but he can't shake the notion of finding his best friend's body on the floor, or blank eyes staring at him. He _knows _what really happened, but it's not enough to reassure him, not enough to erase the nightmare still pounding through his veins.

He has to see James. Kendall needs to know if he is still alive, needs to see it with his own eyes.

He extricates himself from Logan, settling the other teen down gently on the chairs, surprised when he doesn't wake up at all. Carlos snuggles further into Logan, but Kendall's too worried to note how adorable they look or properly save the information for future blackmail.

A quick glance at the clock tells him it's almost 8:30 in the morning. They've been at the hospital almost eleven hours.

His mother is still gone, he notices, and so is Officer Garcia. There an infinite amount of places she could have been at that very moment, but somehow Kendall just knows where he can find her.

She's with James, she has to be. For a moment he's angry that his mother didn't wake him. He's too tired and too upset to stay angry for long, though, and she he lets the feeling go. He sneaks away from Logan and Carlos and finds himself at the nurses' station.

"How can I help you, sweetie?" an older woman with graying hair smiles cheerfully at him. Kendall can't muster up enough energy to smile back.

"I would like to know how James Diamond is doing, please? What room is he in?" he tried to sound confident and sure, but his words came out weak and timid.

"I'm sorry, sweetie, I can't give that information to you," she gently responded and looked genuinely sorry.

"Please, he's..." he hesitated, unsure of how exactly to describe James. He may not have been sure what James was to him, but he knew what was going to get him the information he needed. "He's my brother."

The information wasn't a total lie. His mother was James' guardian, which did technically make James his brother.

The kind old woman shook her head, though, denying his request. "I'm sorry, honey," she told him. He hung his head, seconds away from begging, because she didn't understand how badly he needed to find James, before someone called his name.

"Kendall?"

"Mom!" He quickly hurried away from the nurse and tightly hugged his mother. "How's James?" he blurted out before his mother could get a word in edgewise.

"He's…recovering," she said, but he did not fail to notice the hesitation and reticence in her words.

"Can I see him?" His mother was seconds away from denying him, just like the nurse. "Please mom, I have to see him, I have to know if he's okay," he begged, his voice wavering with unshed tears.

"Kendall," she whispers softly and sits in one of the chairs, pulling Kendall into the seat next to her. "James has been through a lot. He hasn't woken up yet, but the doctors are afraid he…they're not sure…" she paused trying to find the right words.

"You don't have to sugarcoat it for me, Mom," he interjected, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "You weren't there." He shakes his head and stares at his lap, at his hand tightly clutching his mother's. "In the closet, he wasn't…he wasn't…right. He, he wanted to see his mother. I didn't have the heart to tell him she was dead. And when the paramedics came, you didn't see him break down, you didn't watch him fall apart. He didn't even realize we were really there. You didn't see that.

"But _I_ did. And I know there's a chance that what happened in the closet, that that is permanent, that he's never going to be the same again, but I have to see him. I have to know either way. I need to know he's still alive."

He finally looks up, green eyes watery and heartbroken. His mother sighs, her own eyes expressively sad.

"Okay," she concedes.

He follows her down the long white hallway, unsure of exactly what was waiting for him at the other end.

* * *

_Snow was falling. Worn, bare Christmas trees dotted front curbs as the holidays came to a close. Late at night watching the news,__ she sat on the couch with a cup of hot chocolate, __ snuggled tightly in warm, wool blankets._

_"__It was James' tenth birthday today," Karl suddenly said as he sadly trudged into the room, with shoulders hunched, before he plopped onto the couch dejectedly. He looked absolutely miserable as his downcast eyes found hers. "I just accidentally heard that from Kendall. Did you know it was his birthday?"_

_Challen understood why Karl was so miserable. Her husband had been orphaned as a teenager, and bounced around from foster home to foster home. He knew what it was like to be abused, to be mistreated, to be thought of as less than human. Karl knew what it was like to have to fight to survive, to watch friends and family die, to watch people just give up in life, or watch then get shot down by gangs, or succumb to drugs. He knew what it was like to have no one care about him, to have absolutely no one to love him. Karl knew what it was like to have no one care that it was his birthday. Life, in the early years, had never been easy for Karl M. Knight. _

_It could have made him bitter, could have made him travel down a well worn path to drugs and abuse. But it didn't. Karl was the nicest person Challen had ever met. He had the sweetest heart, the kindest eyes, and he always had a gentle word and warm advice. His patience was boundless and never, ever did he snap at his kids, say a mean to word to them even when he was reprimanding them. Challen had never met anyone who didn't love Karl. _

_His heart was too big, he wanted to help everyone. _

"_No," she whispers in reply, noticing the heavy weight on her husbands' shoulders and the pain in his eyes, a pain from memories that could never be erased. _

"_Do you think his father even cares?" he bitterly huffed, his words dripping with hatred for the older Diamond. _

_She didn't need to reply for Karl to know her answer. James never said a word about it to anyone, but his father was far from perfect. James tried to hide it, but it was painfully obvious to both Challen and Karl that the man did not care about his son. He had never gone to a single hockey game, never showed up to parent teacher conferences, and apparently he didn't even care that it was his son's birthday. _

_It nearly broke her husband's heart to know that nobody seemed to care about that child, except for them. _

_Over the years, especially since his mother passed away, and long before, James spent a lot of time at their house. It was his fourth night in a row sleeping over, but neither Challen nor Karl complained. They weren't about to send him away. If it kept James away from an empty house and his horrible father, then James was welcome at their home whenever. _

_Karl used to joke that their home was James' too. She wonders why that statement never bothered her until now._

"_Everyone should celebrate their birthday, Challen," he said and turned his haunted eyes towards her. _

_She quickly agreed. _

_The next day, when Kendall excitedly dragged home a complacent James, they surprised the ten year old with a chocolate cake as the whole family sang Happy Birthday. James burst into tears._

_No one had celebrated his birth in a long time. _

_It was two days later before they saw James again. Challen just thought it was because James was embarrassed about crying in front of him. She had audibly gasped in surprise when she saw the dark bruise the engulfed his entire right eye.  
_

_He claimed he 'fell.' __Challen bought he lie, but Karl never did. Two months later there was a suspicious sprained wrist he got from 'slipping in the shower.' And a month after that, Karl got a peak at his back and of the bruises that covered his skin that he got from being 'decked into the boards during hockey.'_

_It was then her husband had enough. "I think James' father is physically abusing him," Karl whispered into her hair as he held her in his arms later that night. _

"_Are you sure?" she tentatively asked. She trusted Karl's judgement. He had been in enough abusive foster homes to know what it was like, to know the symptoms. But it was a bold statement to make against a very powerful, very wealthy businessman. _

"_Remember those bruises I saw on his back earlier today?" he said and waited for her to nod before he continued. "There is no way he could have gotten those from playing hockey. Those were whip marks, Challen. Someone took a belt to his back, and I'll give you one guess who."_

_Challen tightened her grip on her husband's arms. David Diamond was not a model father, there was no question about that, but not once did it ever cross her mind that the CEO was beating his son. _

"_I'm going to talk to James tomorrow," Karl vowed, "next time Kendall drags him home." _

_But Karl never had that talk with James. He died on his way to work the next morning. In her grief, Challen forget everything about her conversation with Karl that night, about the bruises and the lies that never matched up, about the pain in his eyes that never went away. The same pain she got a hint of every time she had looked into Karl's eyes. _

_The truth had come too late. _

Challen woke slowly, dragging herself from the depths of her dreams. She didn't want to see anymore, didn't want to be reminded of her mistakes.

Now, more than ever, her guilt haunted her. She used to think she was a good mother, but now she wonders if it was just Karl that was a good parent, and if she was just along for the ride, hanging on the coattails of his success.

She'd spent the last four years hanging in a shroud of misery, oblivious to anything, but her own pain and her children. And now they were all paying heavily for her mistakes.

A tear forces itself past her blockade and rolls down her cheek as she thinks of what James must have gone through these last four years. What kind of abuse he had to endure, that she could have stopped so long ago, before something like this happened. She feels another tear slip past her defenses for all the pain James must have unnecessarily gone through.

It has been four long years since she last cried, since the day of her husband's funeral. The gates have been open, though, leaving her raw and vulnerable as another twisted tear rolls down her cheek. Now that they have finally come, she is unable to stop the tears, unable to stop the sob that starts deep in her chest and works its way past her lips.

"Challen," a soft kind voice suddenly says as a warm hand settles on her shoulder. She jumps in surprise unaware that anyone else had been in the room. Startled she looks up into Garcia's warm brown eyes full of sympathy and compassion. It only intensifies her guilt.

"Maybe you should go take a few minutes for yourself," the Officer says. "I'll watch James while you're gone."

She knows what he is really saying. Go collect yourself, if James wakes up he doesn't need to see this. She nods in consent. Quietly, she stands to her feet and hurriedly walks out of the room, unsuccessfully trying to keep her sobs in check.

Challen rushes into the first bathroom she finds and hides in a stall. Sitting on the toilet seat, she buries her head in her hands and cries for the first time in four years, finally letting go of all the bottled up pain and misery she had been trying and failing to keep bottled up.

It takes a long time for her tears to stop. She splashes water across her face and though it washes away the tear tracks it can't erase her puffy eyes. Somehow, though, she _does _feel better. She feels lighter, happier, as if she can finally move past the death of her husband and move forward, move on with her life. Karl would always be with her, in her memories and in her heart. But now it was time for her to carry on his work, his compassion. James needed her now, Kendall and Katie needed her, and she would be there for them. She was finally ready to step up into the role they needed her to be in, to be the support they needed.

Her confidence, however, quickly disintegrated when she found Kendall in the hallway, seconds away from crying at the nurses' station. He begged Challen to let him see James and she could not deny him.

But as Kendall stood hesitantly at the door to James' room, unwilling to make the final step, she's starting to rethink her decision, starting to question if she had really done the right thing in agreeing to let Kendall see James.

It was a heartbreaking sight and she had been terrified to make that first step into his room as well. Pale skin, bruised cheeks and an eye so swollen it couldn't open were the first things that greeted wandering eyes. Propped up on a sick display was his left arm heavily bound in a white plaster cast. Bruises dotted what skin was visible, and disappeared under the thin cotton sheets. James was broken and completely vulnerable, crushed and defeated under the heavy hand fate had dealt him. The broken picture painted before her made her heart flutter with grief and heartbreak every time she entered his room. It was a hard site to take in, hard to deal with, and even harder to understand how someone could do that to their own son.

It wasn't something Kendall should have to deal with. But Kendall had been right, it was something he needed to see. She knew that if Kendall didn't go in there it would be far worse, because he would be left wondering, his doubts eating away at him.

She places a warm hand on his trembling shoulder and he curls into her, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face into her shoulder.

"I'm terrified, mom," he admits and it breaks her heart. "What if there's nothing we can do?" he poses the question she had been dreading herself.

What would they do? If they couldn't pull James back from the edge of darkness, from his twisted thoughts? What if there was nothing to be done to help the traumatized teen, to help him past this dark experience?

It is not something she wants to think about, and she is not all prepared for that outcome, because she knows the terrible truth. If they couldn't help James move past this, she would lose both of her sons. Tears well in her eyes again, but she doesn't let them fall.

"I don't know," she finally admits after a long silence. Kendall's arms tighten around her. "I don't know," she continued, "because I believe it won't come to that. I know it's tough to see James like this, but I believe in him. I believe he's strong enough to pull through this. And we'll give him all the help he needs, we'll be there every step of the way." She lets a hand settle on the back of Kendall's head, lightly stroking his blonde hair. She pulls him closer, trying to shield him from the heartbreak and misery wrought by this situation.

"Even the strongest of people break," Kendall whispers fearfully, almost shamefully and it sounds so unlike her son. Kendall is usually so confident and strong willed, a leader amongst his friends.

Sometimes it was too easy to forget he's just a child still and that he still needed to lean on his mother's strength sometimes.

"If it ever comes to that, we will cross that hurdle then, but until then I want you to have a little faith in James. I know it's hard, baby, but believe it will get better."

He pulls away and she's reluctant to let him go, to leave the protective comfort of her embrace. This wasn't something she could protect Kendall from, not anymore.

With one hand settled on Kendall's back, together they walk into the quiet room.

Officer Garcia is sitting silently next to the teen's bed looking worn and tired, every bit of his age showing in light of his exhaustion.

Kendall hesitates for a moment, uncertainty written on his face, his steps falter, but then he squares his shoulders and immediately crosses the room, pulling up a chair and settling next to the still body lying on the bed.

"The Doctors were just here," Garcia tells her. "They say he should wake up any minute and to call them when he does finally wake up." He rises uneasily from his chair and unsteadily meets her eyes. "I'm going to go check on Carlos and Logan."

She nods, unable to offer a response or any comfort and simply occupies his vacant chair. She's not sure she wants to be here, either, when James finally wakes up. She's not sure she can handle the sting of having her hopes shattered.

A soft whimper escapes past swollen cracked lips. Challen scrapes together what little strength and courage she has left and pulls her chair closer to the bed. Kendall pulls in closer, as close as he can, his anxiousness apparent in the quick tapping of his leg and the thrumming of his fingers.

Comfortingly, she lets her fingers run through James' hair.

"James? Wake up, sweetie."

Long eyelashes flutter open. Dazed brown eyes stare at her in confusion.

"Mama?"

* * *

_The house is destroyed. Broken glass and broken dreams lay scattered haphazardly around the halls and rooms. Tables are upturned, beer splashed against walls, books and knickknacks strewn everywhere. _

_Tentatively, he follows the trail of destruction to find his father in his study. The room is completely destroyed. Everything on the desks and shelves is on the floor and the room reeks of alcohol. Screaming into his phone and wildly gesturing in the midst of the clutter is his father. His father is roaring drunk and he's never seen the older man this angry before. _

_He's hesitant to make his presence known. Fear pounds through his veins and his panic makes his body heavy with laden fear. _

_So he stops on the threshold, heart pounding as he listens to his father throw a tantrum._

"_The prosecution has a strong case against you, David. I've been your friend for a long time, but you are not going to be able to beat the charges this time," the short clipped voice, that James instantly recognizes as his father's lawyer, says through the speaker phone. _

"_I pay you good money to get me off these charges, so you better do your damn job!" his father roars into the phone like an animal ready to attack, his humanity slipping between his fingers. _

"_The cops really want to put you away, David," his lawyer says with a serious tone, "they're doing everything by the book and I couldn't keep James' medical records out of their hands this time. You've put that poor kid in the hospital five times in the last two years! That alone is enough incriminating evidence against you."_

"_The fucking brat deserved it!" his father screams and James flinches slightly at his drunkenly slurred words. The abuse, alone, had always been a constant reminder that his father hated him, but to actually hear it said out loud in so many words, hurts worse than any physical pain his father could inflict._

_His father didn't love him and it is all James' fault. He must have done something wrong to make his father hate him. _

"_You better be prepared to stand by those words, because you are about to go to jail for all those times you put your son in the hospital," the lawyer angrily retorts. _

_A small spark of hope ignites in James. His father is going to jail? His father isn't going to win this time? _

_He almost turns around, almost sneaks out of the house as if he was never there to return to the loving arms of Mrs. Knight and Kendall, to people that actually wanted him around, but his father's next words stop him dead in his tracks._

"_I will destroy them," he father hisses, voice dark and angry. "If I go down I am taking that bitch and her little brats with me. I will drag Karl Knight's good name through the mud if I have to. And that fucking Officer too. If I'm going down they're coming with me."_

_He knew his father meant every single one of those words. He couldn't do that to the Knights. He couldn't put Kendall or Mrs. Knight, Carlos or Officer Garcia, through that. _

_His father is going to win after all. _

_He steels himself to face his father, picks up the thin pieces of his courage and holds them together with false reassurances. If he goes into that room, he knows there's a chance he won't survive._

_But he's not about to let his father hurt the only people who have ever mattered to him besides his mother._

"_Dad," he tries to boldly say, but it comes out as a squeak of terror. _

_His father turns to face him, but his eyes are completely red as his father advances. _

_Suddenly, the lights go out. He's catapulted into complete darkness except for the two red eyes of his father glaring at him. _

_He's terrified, and every part of his body is in pain, but a comforting embrace shields him from the menacing eyes of his father. His mother's warm arms are wrapped around him, one hand running through his hair._

"James? Wake up, sweetie," _his mother's voice commands._ _But he didn't know he had been sleeping._

He struggles to open his eyes and it feels like he is falling in reverse, being sucked out of the black abyss. It leaves him reeling and nauseous.

There is a warm hand running soothingly through his hair. He blinks rapidly trying to clear his fuzzy vision from his one eye as a figure of a woman with long brown hair starts to appear before him.

For a moment he is confused. He has no idea where he is or what's happening and the last thing he remembers is being in his mother's arms.

"Mama," James whispers and he's surprised how hoarse his voice sounds.

He can feel the hand tense in his ear, as someone he didn't notice before inhales sharply to his right, beyond the vision of his eye that won't open for some reason.

"No, James, it's me, Mrs. Knight." He blinks a few more times and Mrs. Knight's face finally, clearly comes into view, hovering worriedly over him. For a brief second he wonders where his mother is.

And then it hits him, as if he was losing her all over again. His mother is gone. He had been the one who found her cold dead body on the bathroom floor.

He wants to respond to Mrs. Knight, but the words are getting stuck in his head. He feels groggy and confused and trying to process anything is slow and difficult.

"James, do you know where you are?" a voice questions him. He turns his head towards the voice and slowly shakes his head 'no.'

"You're in the hospital," the voice says. "I'm Doctor Roth. How are you feeling?" the Doctor asks and shines a bright light into his eyes. He flinches away from the casual touch.

"Confused," he easily answers because that's about all he can muster right now, that's all he knows. His memories, thoughts, and feelings are a big massive pile in his mind and he's having difficulty sorting through them, trying to remember what happened.

"What's the last thing you remember?" the Doctor asks him.

He lets his mind wander and tries to pull together his thoughts. The longer he is awake, the easier it is to recall things. Rapidly his memory sifts through events, until finally settling on the dark closest. He shivers in response as his mind dwells on the situation.

"Being in the closet," he answers in a timid voice and chokes on his words. He doesn't want to remember it, how he screamed and cried and pounded on the door begging to be let out and nobody came. He remembers how much it hurt, how his arm hung uselessly, obviously broken and there was nothing he could do about it. He remembers the thirst and the cramping pain of hunger as the days grew long. He remembers his thoughts slipping beyond his control as delusions took over his mind and how terrified he was when he thought he was going crazy.

James isn't sure he wants to know what happened after that.

"Do you remember how you got here?"

He tried to remember, but there was nothing there. There is a vague flash of memory, of a ride in an ambulance and Kendall…

"Kendall?" he whispers hoping his thoughts get through, because he really, really just wants to see his best friend.

"I'm right here," a voice supplies. Painfully he turns his head towards the source and sees Kendall sitting next to him. James moves his good hand towards him and Kendall takes the hint, grabbing onto his hand and squeezing lightly.

It is but a vague thought, but he remembers Kendall finding him, being there for him. He had given up, he had let go, he knew he was going to die in that closest and slowly, slowly he had tried to accept that.

"Thank you," he whispers, but he's not entirely sure who he's talking to. "Thank you," he says again. His cheeks are wet and he realizes he's crying in relief. He made it, he survived. After believing he was _going _to die and that nothing could change that, James cannot describe what he felt in that moment realizing someone had cared enough to save him.

Mrs. Knight brushes the hair from his sweaty forehead and lets her hand rest on the top of his head. He turns to look at her and she smiles at him.

He takes a deep shuddering breath. "My father?" he asks. James knows if he is here in the hospital, then something must have happened to his father. The man never would have let him go otherwise.

Mrs. Knight's smile falters. "You're father passed away. I'm so sorry, James."

He nods to himself, fat tears still rolling down his face. His father may not have loved him, but that didn't mean that James didn't love his father. He was his father after all.

The Doctor pulls Mrs. Knight away and he turns his focus to Kendall. As the other boy's hand tightly clutches his, he can feel Kendall shaking.

"I was so worried about you," Kendall whispers. "I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. I couldn't let him hurt you," he says and he can feel himself becoming agitated and worked up. His chest hurts and his hitching breaths are making it worse.

"Calm down, James," Kendall worriedly soothes. "I'm not mad."

He nods and forces himself to breathe, to relax. He's not entirely sure what has him so worked up and that scares James.

"How…how bad is it?" he asks, partly trying to change the subject, but mostly because he needs to know how bad it is. His entire body aches, but it is dulled under a heavy dose of pain medication, which is also dulling his thoughts. It scares him. Most of his body just feels heavy and numb.

"You're going to be fine, James," Kendall hesitantly replies.

"I don't believe you," he says, but he hadn't meant to say the words out loud.

"Look at me James," Kendall pleads. James does so with difficulty, his neck burns with the small motion and he's left feeling exhausted, physically and emotionally. His one good eye stares up at Kendall sorrowfully, begging for the truth. "I wouldn't lie to you."

"I know." He believes Kendall he really does.

He starts drifting away after that, letting the darkness tugging at the corners of his mind to finally pull him under. He doesn't want to fall asleep, to be confronted with his nightmares and his father's angry glare.

"I'm so glad you're okay," Kendall whispers as James finally succumbs to his exhaustion.

And James smiles. In his dreams, he has no control, he never has, but he has Kendall to protect him. He has Kendall to keep him safe.

And he will always have that.

* * *

**AN: **This is officially the longest chapter, so far, of _Wishful Thinking!_ as kind of a thank you to all you guys and gals for sticking with me. I was going to stop this chapter with Mrs. Knight's pov, and then not write James' part, but I know it's going to be at least a week until I can update and I would have felt bad if I left you guys hanging for that long. I have been trying to get this chapter done for two weeks now, but today was literally the first time in weeks I had time to finish this chapter. I had midterms, they did not go well.

This chapter was kind of inspired by a dream I had a long time ago. I dreamt my brother had died in a car accident. For a long time after I woke I thought my dream was reality, that my brother really was gone. I went through my whole morning routine under this notion, until finally I had a 'wait, what?' moment where I realized my brother never was in a car accident, he wasn't dead, and why hadn't I realized that until now? I wasn't convinced, though, I actually had to call my brother to reassure myself that he wasn't gone. I called his house and my sister in law picked up and the first words out of my mouth were "is my brother dead?" My sister in law was like 'what are you talking about?' It was strange, really strange, but I felt a lot better after I talked to him on the phone and could finally believe it was just a dream. So yeah, that was kind of the inspiration that spawned this whole chapter.

James is going to be okay, kind of. Yay! Don't worry, though, in the coming chapters and sequel you will get to see just how badly the whole thing affected him and that's he not as okay as he seems. Dun, dun, dun. Next Chapter will be happier, and less angsty, I promise!

Thanks,

'Quote' I


	11. Chapter 10

Guess who finally updated?

**

* * *

Chapter 10**

Logan Mitchel was a methodical person, taking in every detail, analyzing it, cataloguing it, memorizing it, and then logically fitting it in with his preexisting wisdom, and forever holding the knowledge within his mind.

It came as no surprise that Logan spent a lot of time analyzing his thought process and the way his brain worked. He was positive that was not something normal people did.

He used reasoning and logic to deduce his thoughts, his decisions, and sometimes his every move. He was intelligent, but ordered and calculating, processing information and observations faster than the average human.

He hated it. For the first twelve years of his life, Logan hated his intelligence. He hated _himself. _ He hated that he was smarter than most people, hated that he couldn't be normal, even when he tried. They tried to make him skip ahead a few years. Logan spent a whole year trying to be stupid when he found out, trying to dumb himself down because he _wanted_ to be like everyone else. He didn't want to be _above average _because above average meant he was a freak.

But then he met Kendall and James and later Carlos. They had accepted Logan for who he was, encouraged him to embrace his intelligence, his quirks, his uniqueness. They helped Logan accept himself, love himself, _be_ himself. Logan never would have wanted to be a Doctor if it wasn't for them, and he also might have purposely failed out of sixth grade.

With time, he had come to love the gift he had been given. But right now he _hated_ it. How his mind took in every detail of the broken teen before him without his permission. Every bruise, every fold of the crisp, white bandages burned into his memory.

He could recall every minute detail from memory.

It took sixteen steps to cross from the bedroom door to the closet. There were six boxes in the closet of varying sizes, one partially open, a dusty photo album peaking out from under the open fold. There were ten bruises on the exposed part of James' left arm, eight around his neck, four on his face. And there had been twenty two lashes across his back in various stages from red and raw to dark purple and blue to deep cuts scabbed over with time. He can't forget, he can never forget the way James' hands shook, the panic in his eyes, the fear laced in his words.

Logan remembers it all.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Logan snapped his eyes open to find a pair of concerned green eyes just inches from face.

"I'm fine," he immediately replied, reverting to his automatic response without really evaluating the question or formulating a proper response.

"Liar," Kendall accused.

"It's just," he began and let his eyes slip shut. Immediately his mind brought him back to the closet and back to…James.

At the moment he was horrified, shocked by the cruelty he'd never thought possible before, by any man. He was disgusted by his own actions. He'd watched James die, piece by piece, slowly self destructing over the long years. Always wondering if there was something more he could have done.

From bruises and hugs, flinches and breakdowns, there was always the worry, always the fear of where it all came from, where it all began, pretending it was all okay.

He still can't believe that years of slow destruction, a decade worth of pain and it all ended with the closet.

The dark, seemingly harmless, closet that couldn't be more than four by four feet squared.

The lies he told, the lies he's believed leave him ashamed, embarrassed, and heartbroken.

He's never lost faith in humanity so quickly, nor been so confused in his life before.

But in time, Logan _would _process what happened, assimilate it with his knowledge of human behavior that he already possessed and explain it away as an anomaly, as James' father being a psychopath, or whatever other result physically applied to the situation.

He didn't need Kendall to worry about him. He did not need anyone's help, did not want anyone's attention focused on him, refused to break down again like he had last night.

He opened his eyes again and stared straight into Kendall's.

"I'm fine, Kendall, really," he assured because with every quark and string of his being… Logan believed that was true.

And though he would never forget, _could _never forget, as he knew none of them ever would, _today_, he knew, was a beginning. Today they started over. It didn't change the past, it didn't change the things they had seen, and those _things _would never cease to be unimportant.

But they were in the _past _now. No longer did the fear and uncertainty linger in this present, in their future. Logan could watch James leave this hospital and not have to worry whether or not he would see him again.

Because they were going to take care of him, they were all going to take care of each other.

"Are you sure?" Kendall asked, his stubborn self refusing to give up.

Logan smiled and laid a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sure."

Kendal thankfully let it go and walked away, silently slumping into a heap in the chair next to Carlos on the opposite side of the bed from Logan.

Kendall rolled his eyes at Carlos and Logan had to hold back a laugh at their latino friend. The teen was currently sitting as close as he possibly could next to James, head in hands, and face so close to James, Logan was sure they were breathing the same air. He hadn't seen Carlos blink in minutes and he was starting to wonder if his friend fell asleep with his eyes open.

It honestly wouldn't surprise him if Carlos had.

"Carlos, he's not going to disappear if you take your eyes off of him," he chastised.

"You don't know that for sure," Carlos snapped and threw an irritated glare towards Logan before quickly averting his eyes back towards James.

Logan wasn't going to argue with Carlos any further. It would be pointless. If it made Carlos feel better, then who was he to judge?

They all needed a little hope in whatever form it came.

* * *

They called him naïve. They looked on with pity, regretting the day his innocence would crash around him.

They said he was stupid, that he would never amount to anything, that _no one could ever love a retard like him_. They stole his helmet, threw it in the trash, called him names, told him _they didn't want an immigrant's son in their school._

He was just a dirty Mexican.

_You don't deserve to live_, they said.

Little Carlos tried to never let _their_ taunts get to him, tried to keep his spirit high despite the adversity. But he was just a child, and in this fragile time words hurt more than scraped knees and black eyes. Their words _meant _something to him.

Carlos Garcia, with his head full of big dreams, his infectious love of life, and his heart too big for his small body, spent the first nine years of his life without a single friend, alone and unloved by everyone but his father, his busy mother and his five older sisters.

Carlos still remembers the first time he saw James. His parents had transferred him to a new school when the bullying got too bad at his old one. No one in his class wanted to be his friend, so he sat alone at recess, swinging silently, pretending to fly, pretending he was a hero and everybody loved him, _wishing for the day everyone would know his name, _when he caught the other child's eyes. There had been something akin to understanding in those eyes.

But it had been nothing more than a passing glance.

Summer came around and Carlos resigned himself to once more spend his days alone. He was walking, unsure of where he was going, hood pulled low over his eyes despite the heat, when he saw three boys playing street hockey. He'd stopped to watch, jealous of their camaraderie, when he caught sight of those hazel eyes again. The only pair of eyes, besides those of his family, that had never looked _at_ Carlos with disgust.

Then the most amazing moment in Carlos short life happened: little Carlos made his first friend ever.

The younger boy had skated over to him. He hadn't mocked, or teased, Carlos. He didn't make a single derogatory or mean remark. Instead, James asked Carlos if he wanted to play.

No one had ever asked Carlos if he wanted to play with them before.

The three boys had easily accepted Carlos into their circle. No ever called him a dirty Mexican again, because if they did they risked Kendall's fist to their face, or Logan's sharp tongue.

But James understood. He knew what it was like to just not fit in. He knew what it was like to be alone. That's why the two boys were always so close. That's why James had always been his best friend.

His friends said he wasn't useless. They said he wasn't a retard. They _wanted_ to be his friend. They accepted Carlos for who he was, encouraged Carlos to _become _who he was.

His friends changed his life.

Carlos always believed that fate had never given him friends before then, because it was waiting to give him the three greatest friends in the world. And he always believed, from the moment they had their first sleepover until the minute they found James in the closet, to this very moment, that together they could get through anything.

There was never any doubt in his mind.

From the moment his father told him James was missing, he'd always known James was alive, not once did he ever doubt that. And he knew James _would _get better. What happened in the closet, yeah it freaked him out, it freaked everybody out, but Carlos knew it couldn't last.

As he sits next to James' bed, his good hand held in his own, Carlos doesn't look at the bruises, or the cast, or the tubes, or the bandages. He sees the part of James that is untouched by his father.

He sees the James that ran through a puddle of mud with Carlos because no one else would. He sees the part of James that stayed up with him for 48 straight hours eating nothing but candy and soda, because Carlos was afraid to go to sleep.

He sees _James. _The very same James he met five years ago.

And Carlos just knows everything is going to be okay.

He feels the heavy hand of sleep tugging on his eyelids, but he doesn't let them close. James is supposed to wake up any second, he's been told, he doesn't want to miss it when he does. But the chairs in the waiting room weren't exactly suited for a long night's restful sleep and Carlos was _exhausted. _

He _will_ tape his eyelids open if he has to, though, because Carlos is _not _going to miss the next moment when James wakes up, and he is _not _jealous that Kendall got to talk to him already.

Carlos is slumped over the bed, chin resting in his hands, elbows digging a permanent dent into the hospital bed. His face is literally inches from James, and he refuses to even blink despite Logan chastising him.

Bleary hazel eyes rapidly blink before slowly opening, instantly rewarding Carlos for his vigilance when those hazel eyes settle on him. He pulls James' hand closer to him. James' eyes are clear of confusion, free of the fear and insanity that haunted them long ago.

And Carlos realizes James _is _free. Free of the heavy burden of his father's hate, free of the worry, free of the pain. Everyone thinks James' innocence has been ripped from him, but Carlos believes it has finally been _given_ to him. His freedom _is _his innocence, and now he finally has the right to be a child, to live how he wants, to _be_ who he wants to be.

In a room full of teary eyes and hopeless thoughts, he smiles, knowing everything is as it's supposed to be.

* * *

He dreamt of nothing, of darkness that stretched on and on, forever it seemed. For miles and miles he walked alone in the darkness, looking forward to nothing, hoping for nothing, being no one.

Time went on, a gentle ticking distantly in the background, as he slowly walked forward into the comforting abyss.

It was the best dream he'd ever had.

There were no red eyes glowing in the darkness, no demons to haunt his dreams, nor death waiting around the corner, stalking his every move, just waiting for him to give up. There was no pressure, no pain, nor fear, just the darkness and a subtle warmth that spread from his hand to his very soul. In the darkness, there was peace, there was calm and the threat of imminent danger was nonexistent.

He couldn't really ask for more. Never could have wished for anything better.

All he'd ever wanted was quiet, for his spirit to stop sighing in defeat, for his heart to stop crying, for his soul to stop screaming in pain. Always he waited for the courage to do so, to finally take his life in his own hands and just make it all…stop.

It wasn't much of a dream, but it was the only one he'd ever had to look forward to.

He felt the light pulling him away from his dreams. A familiar face materialized blearily before him. A warm hand was wrapped around his own, worried eyes were mere inches away from him, as a hot breath ghosted across his face. Carlos' eyes immediately lit up the moment he saw that James was awake.

He could have been missing for years, but James knew Carlos was the one person who never would have given up hope. He doesn't quite smile, but his grip tightens around Carlos' hand in a silent _thank you. _

Carlos would always be there for him, always had been, but it was James who was finally ready to accept that help.

For too long, he'd tried to deny that anything was wrong. But now? James was not okay, he couldn't brush off what had happened in the last few days, in the last 14 years of life. He couldn't pretend anymore that he was fine, or anywhere near something resembling normal. It was far too late for that.

In the darkness, the voices in his head had grown too loud, the memories had been too much, and he lost it, went completely and utterly crazy. His father had reduced him to something less than human. And when his sanity had fled, brutality striped from him under the harsh conditions of his captivity, and when his death had seemed imminent, he'd begged, pleaded for his life to the silent air, to a man that wasn't there and a god he wasn't sure was listening.

He was ashamed, humiliated. When a person reached that point in their life, where instinct and survival commanded their mind in the face of death, when one had no control over their own thoughts, you couldn't come back from that, could never be the same person. There would always be a lingering doubt in his mind, that maybe he couldn't handle living this life anymore, maybe he was never sane to begin with.

But these dark thoughts, he would not let them win. James would not, could not, give up. He would struggle with these thoughts for the rest of his life, but he would fight them, fight to gain control of his life and mind once again. He'd never been one to give up easily, and James was not about to start now.

He took a deep breath, letting the clean hospital air fill his lungs, before slowly letting it go. Three pairs of eyes cautiously watched him and his heart swelled with gratitude at their concern.

Even after everything they'd seen, after everything he'd said and done, his friends were still there for them. And James knew no matter how bad things got, when his mind wandered down dark paths, or the road got too tough to travel, he would never have to face his demons alone.

"How are you feeling?" Kendall asks.

"Better," he croaks.

"Small sips," Logan orders as a cup is pressed to his lips. The cool liquid soothes his parched throat and nearly brings tears to his eyes. He thought he never be able to enjoy a cup of water, or relish in the taste of food again. This isn't just a cup of water to him, and he could never make his friends understand, that this small thing…it's like being born again, like being given a second chance to live.

"Are…are you going to be okay?" Carlos timidly asks in a shy, childlike voice, having noticed the tears in his eyes.

He does smile this time and turns his hazel eyes towards Carlos' wide innocent face.

"Yeah, Carlos," he says and he meant those words with all his heart. Maybe not today, maybe not this month, or even this year, but one day, James _would_ be okay. He could never forget, never be as innocent or carefree as he once was, would never be the same person, but one day he would move on. "I _am_ going to be okay."


	12. Chapter 11

Never thought I would actually do this, but I have updated this story after almost a year. I don't like leaving things unfinished. Unfortunately, not my best writing. I originally had plans for a sequel, but I am sorry to say I don't think that is going to happen now. I had a lot of fun writing these boys, and making them all angsty, while it lasted.

* * *

**Chapter 11**

It wasn't everyday your best friend became your brother.

And while he was more than happy to welcome James into the family, it didn't feel natural. It didn't _feel _right.

It wasn't jealousy that riled his thoughts, nor was it fear that fueled his disdain. It was hatred, like none he had ever felt before. If James' parents had just been there for him, had done what they were supposed to do, if his mother hadn't killed herself, or his father wasn't a cold hearted fool, none of this would have ever happened.

Kendall's father always told him that everything happened for a reason. _"No matter what happens, or how bad things get, there is always a silver lining," _his father used to say.

But just like the day his father died, Kendall can't find a silver lining. He can't find a reason.

There _was_ no reason. Sure, James was finally free from _both _of his parents, away from their destructive clutches, but what price did he have to pay for his freedom? And what about him? Or Logan, or Carlos, or his mom, or Katie? They all paid a price, in some it was innocence, in others it was a piece of their heart they could never get back. A steep price was paid by all involved.

And now James wanted to go to the funeral of the one man who caused all of this. The man that nearly destroyed their lives and it didn't make a lick of sense to Kendall.

Once he thought he understood his best friends inside and out, he once believed that there were no secrets between them. He was naïve to think so. And now with eyes wide open, he could really see it. The small cracks in their solid friendship, the slight changes in all of their personalities, the shift in atmosphere to one of melancholy, as if all the fun and happiness had been sucked right out their lives. They were all…careful around each other, cautious with their words, hesitant with their once casual touches, tip toeing on eggshells so as not to cause a scene. Kendall only hoped that one day they would get through this, all of them, that one day they could fix what was broken. That one day it would be easy again, being friends.

_One day, _he thought, and bitterly shook his head.

"Stand still Kendall, I'm almost done with your tie," his mother chastised.

"I think this is a bad idea," he said, and brushed her hands off his stifling tie. "Why does James even want to go anyways? After everything that man did to us, he doesn't deserve to have anyone mourn his death!" he bitterly spat and walked away from his mother.

Gently she laid a delicate hand on his tense shoulders, calming the smoldering fire she saw brewing in his eyes. "James has a right to make his own decisions and he need us to be there to support him."

"What if he's making the wrong choice?"

"Honey," his mother said, and pushed him gently until he was seated on a chair. "Nothing bad is going to happen."

"I know," Kendall sighed in defeat and let his shoulders slump. "I just don't like thinking that James is doing this because he feels his owes his father or whatever. We don't owe that man anything."

"I know to you, that may seem obvious, but it's not so simple for James. All he ever did was seek the love and approval of his father and he never got it. And now he never will," she said and looked sadly at the door of James's hospital room, a faraway look in her eyes. Idly her hand sought Kendall's, as if reassuring herself that he was still there, that he was still her baby. "I don't know what James is looking for, or hoping to accomplish today. But I do know that we are his family now and we're going to prove to him that no matter what, we're there for him, that _we _love him."

He didn't like it. Something still felt so wrong, but Kendall nodded his assent. His mother was right, after all. It was so easy for him to judge, to realize just how much of a bastard Diamond was. He didn't know, couldn't know it like James did. He couldn't know what James had been feeling, or thinking, nor could he understand what he had been through. He could be there for James, though. He knew what it was like to lose a father and he could try to understand why the hell James wanted to lament the man that tormented him.

"I'm going to get a wheelchair, why don't you see if James is ready to go?" They stood to their feet, her heels tapping against the white tile floor as she walked down the hallway. "And Kendall," she said as he his hand gently turned the knob of James' door, "You've been very brave. I'm proud of you, sweetheart."

"I'm proud of you too, Mom." He smiled in return, and watched his mother walk away before daring to brave the cold reality of exactly why they were here in this miserable hospital.

A gentle nurse with bleached blonde hair and pale blue eyes was helping James struggle his good arm into a black suit jacket. He was sitting on the bed, hair neatly combed, left arm bound tightly to his chest by a sling. The nice suit, however, couldn't hide all the bruises, couldn't hide how pale and shaky James was, his body still fighting infection. It couldn't hide the vulnerability shining in his eyes.

James smiled softly at the young nurse as she buttoned his jacket over his bound arm. "How do I look?" he asked, his usual confidence hidden behind layers of fear and self-doubt.

"Positively handsome." She smiled, patted his arm, and left the room, throwing a brief 'hello' towards Kendall. It had been three days since James was admitted to the hospital, and Kendall had barely left in all that time. He had become quite familiar with the nursing staff.

"Are you ready to go?"

James' lips pursed into a tight frown, eyes crinkling as if he was lost in thoughts. "I don't know."

"You don't have to go," Kendall offered.

"Yes I do," James looked down as his neatly polished shoes. "I need to go."

Kendall sat next to James on the hospital bed and let a hand rest on top of James'. "You don't owe your father anything."

James looked out the window, and Kendall followed his gaze. Together they looked at the overcast skies. It was going to rain today. Storm clouds were brewing in the dark sky, threatening to darken this already miserable day.

"I know that," James replied. "I do," he reassured after catching Kendall's skeptical look. "It's just…"

"You're hoping to find some answers," Kendall supplied.

Kendall watched helpless as a few tears slipped from James' eyes and the younger boy nodded. Maybe he did still know James inside and out. "I want to know why. Why doesn't he love me? What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong," Kendall reassured. "It is your father who is at fault."

"I want to believe you. And I want to believe that everything my father ever told me was a lie. I want to believe that I am somebody. But I can't," he paused and watched as a few stray raindrops dashed against the window. "I've been told for so long what I'm supposed to do, what I'm supposed to believe, that I don't know who I really am. I don't know what to do anymore." James tore his gaze away from the brewing storm and turned searching eyes towards Kendall. "What am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to be yourself. Just be James," Kendall answered as if it was the most obvious solution in the whole world.

A small huff of laughter escaped from James, but Kendall couldn't tell if it was sarcasm or something else, something hopeful.

"I don't know who James is_._"

* * *

James is terrified of being alone.

When the lights go out at night, the darkness suffocates him. The slightest noise startles him, the barest hint of movement sends his heart racing. The anxiety never quite goes away, his hands always shake, and the silence of the hospital unnerves him. He can hear his own thoughts in the silence, his own desperation.

His eyes drift carelessly towards the open closet door. He catches a quick peak of beady red eyes glaring at him from the darkened corners of the little adjacent room. His breath catches in his throat and the walls move in closer. It's hot and cold at the same time and sweat runs down his face. Body paralyzed with fear, his lips quiver catching on a scream he cannot let go. _You're going to die in here, _a voice in the closet tells. _This is it._

"No," he whispers and tears his eyes away. He's not in the closet anymore, he has to tell himself, but the suffocating feeling never quite goes away. The nurses tried to close the closet door one night, he spent hours in a panic, wondering what was lurking behind the thin barrier. He made himself so anxious he'd puked. Too afraid to call for help, he sat shivering on his bed. In the morning, the nurse found him curled up, hiding under his blanket, sobbing hysterically. The staff never closed the door again.

James isn't sure what's worse, not knowing what's in the closest, or seeing those eyes and knowing he's bat shit crazy.

His new therapist says it's normal, that what he is experiencing is post-traumatic stress disorder. It's high on her 'things wrong with James list.' James figured that list was pretty long.

He was barely out of surgery for 24 hours before they forced a shrink on him. She was nice, with long blonde hair and soft green eyes, short and non-threatening.

He doesn't want to talk to her.

Years' worth of abuse he suffered, a lifetime full of dark memories he's never told a soul. He's buried those memories deep inside of him, in a dark, cold pit deep in his mind. He placed a ten foot wall between himself and those memories, and he covered that wall with spikes and barb-wired. Going anywhere near that wall is what James imagines being next to a Dementor feels like, a feeling of dread and hopelessness, an icy chill that freezes your heart into a solid block of ice, and fear so strong you forget to breath. If forced to confront those dark thoughts and horrifying memories lurking behind that wall, James doesn't know what could happen. What if the wall cracks? What if he pushes too hard and the wall comes tumbling down, his defense mechanisms shattering in the process?

Once faced with the truth, with thoughts and feelings and memories he's been hiding from for years, will he ever be able to put that wall back up? Maybe, maybe he would be better off. But…but what if he lost control? What if he went crazy, just like he did in the closet, but…permanently? What if the truth is too much to handle?

He would rather hide behind his wall of repressed memories than ever find out.

If he just believes it will, it has to get better, right? He has people that believe in him, friends, and new a family that love and support him. That had to be enough, right? It had to be.

But he couldn't wish for it to be true, couldn't believe it, because he didn't know how. James doesn't really know how to wish, or dream, or imagine a bright future. He's never really had a chance to, nor had a reason to. He never thought he'd live to see this day. He doesn't know what will happen next and that scares him. His father has always been there, he's always know what to expect, always been told what to do. Now that he has a chance to make his own decisions, to be his own person, he doesn't even know where to begin, doesn't know what to feel.

He stares emotionlessly as his father's casket is lowered into the ground. It was a small affair, no one wanted to show their face at the businessman's funeral after hearing of the charges levied against him. The tombstone had only his name engraved on it plus his birthdate and the date of his death. No one could find anything nice to say about David Diamond, so they didn't bother with anything else. His father was just another body in the ground, just another memory to bury behind the dark wall in his mind.

Just another long, miserable day to forget.

"James," Kendall softly says, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder. Ever since his rescue from the closet, James had been anxious and jumpy. Every sudden movement startled him, and every touch made him flinch. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't control it. His therapist said it was his PSTD, but James didn't really care what it was. He just knew he hated it.

He didn't want to live the rest of his life like this. He did not want to live the rest of his life under his father's shadow, but he didn't know how to escape.

"James, are you okay?" Kendall persisted, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. The physical contact was the one thing James was the most thankful for these days. He wasn't stupid. He saw the looks. _Everyone _looked at him differently since 'the accident.' Everyone treated him differently too, like they knew was about to break and didn't want to be there when it happened. Logan could barely look at him. Momma Knight couldn't look at him without tears in her eyes. Even Katie looked at him differently. They were all so hesitant to touch him, and when he flinched, they pulled away.

He didn't want everyone to shy away from him, but he can't stop flinching when anyone gets near.

Kendall…Kendall was different. There was still this _look _on his face, a sadness in his eyes that hadn't been there before, but he never backed down from touching James. Even when James subconsciously pulled away, Kendall never let it bother him.

James was at rock bottom, couldn't get any lower, didn't think his life could get any worse, but those simple touches, those acts of _normalcy, _were the only things getting him through each day. It was the only thing keeping him going. It reminded him of happier days, and maybe of better days to come. Kendall was the ladder to escape from rock bottom.

James tore his eyes away from the casket, away from the man whose cruel actions forced them into this situation. He wanted to hate his father. He wanted to say, the man was a psychopath, incapable of loving..._it's not my fault. _But James isn't so sure he believes that. His mother always held him tightly in her arms when he was a child, tell him over and over again he wasn't to blame, he had nothing to be sorry. If only she were here now to tell him.

"Can you help me over there?" James asked quietly, pointing to a long, neglected grave a few rows over.

Kendall pushed his wheelchair through grass and mud. The neglected grave grew closer and closer until James could run his hand over the smooth rock. He placed the rose that was supposed to go on his father's grave on top of the weathered headstone.

"Hello mom," he whispered to the grave as he ran his fingers over the carefully carved letters of her name.

Kendall knelt in the grass next to him. "She was a special lady."

James smiled fondly at the gesture. He knew exactly what Kendall really thought of his mother. Kendall didn't understand. She tried her hardest, just made a few mistakes along the way. But James knew his mother never meant to leave him alone with his father, she never meant to overdose on those drugs.

"My father would never let me come visit her," James explained, his eyes fixated on the stone in front of him. "He said there was no point, she would never know we were there. But I think she can hear me?"

"She can hear you," Kendall assured. "She's listening to everything you have to say, and she's very proud of you."

"You really think that?"

"Yeah, I do."

James tore his eyes away from the grave and smiled softly at Kendall. He placed a hand on top of Kendall's.

"Thank you," James said, hoping that somewhere in his eyes Kendall see everything he meant with those two small words.

Kendall smiled back. "Let's go home."

_Home. _James wasn't really sure the Knight family house was _his _home, not yet. He wasn't really sure where he fit in anymore.

"Yeah, okay."

He caught the scent of lavender, the smell of his mother's favorite perfume. And it was like he could almost see her. He remembers bright summer morning and he couldn't have been older than five. The smell of lavender tickled his nose as his mother snuck up behind him. Delilah gathered her little boy in her arms and spun him around as he giggled in delight. She set him down on the floor and admired the picture he'd been working on all morning. _"I made this for you mommy," _the little boy said.

"_It's beautiful. I'm going to put this on the fridge,"_ Delilah proudly exclaimed.

"_You think I could be a famous artist?" the little boy excitedly asked. _

"_You can be anything you want, baby," _she turned from the fridge and smiled brightly at her little boy. _"Follow your dreams and your heat wherever it may take you and don't let anyone stop you." _

He smiled at the memory as the smell of lavender wafted away on the wind and the little lone grave faded in the distance behind him.

But the feeling of warmth and love remained, the reminder of who Delilah really was still lingering in his mind. For the first time he felt courage, like he could fight the demons in his closet, and the memories behind his wall, and win.

"She was there you know. In the closet. My mother was there. I know you guys think I'm crazy, or I that I was hallucinating. But I know she was there."

"It doesn't matter what we think, James. It only matters what you believe."

He didn't know who he was. He didn't know who he wanted to be. And he wasn't sure of anything anymore. He looked back at his father's grave where Logan, Carlos, Officer Garcia and Mama Knight were still standing and to Kendall at his side and he knew he had all of them to help him find out, to catch him if he fell, to be there when he needed. If he believed in anything, he believed in _them_. And he always had his mother's lucky comb to bring him the strength to go on.

His mother always told him to follow his dreams.

And now... and now he's going to do just that.


End file.
